In the Brief Eternal Silence (69 page)

He sighed. “I was shot, grandmother, if you
must know. Two nights ago, leaving Almacks.”

“Little wonder,” she replied, hiding her
shock, “after the disgraceful show you put on with this young
lady.”

“A means to an end. Leave it at that.”

But she would not be put off. “You know that
you shall have to marry her, of course, for you can not not marry
her after that public and scandalous display. Not to mention the
fact that she has been missing for two nights and has apparently
been in your company.”

“I have every intention of marrying her,” St.
James replied with impatience. “And if Andrew has arrived here as I
expect, I am only surprised that he did not tell you of the banns
posted in the paper.”

“No,” the Duchess said in some surprise. “He
did not apprise me of that development.”

St. James said to Lizzie, “Excuse me, my
dear, while I get my pocket watch,” and she drew back and allowed
him time to remove that item, and then began stitching again as he
handed it to his grandmother. “In the back clasp, grandmother.”

She opened it with her old, arthritic hands
and the folded announcement fluttered down into her lap. And she
did not know which held more significance for her, the announcement
itself, or the fact that it had been in the back of his watch for
safekeeping, and she felt as though she had been in some long and
grueling race and that at last the finish line were in sight.

But she only unfolded it, scanned it and
said, “Well, that is very good, St. James. I am relieved to see
that you are living up to at least one of your
responsibilities.”

“Do not say it as though I have done
something that forces me to marry her,” he advised his grandmother,
“for she has not been compromised in any way.”

“And I did not intimate that she had been,”
his grandmother replied as she returned the watch and the
announcement to him. “So you needn't look at me in that manner. Now
you had better tell me the whole of what is going on, for I tell
you, Dante, if you do not, you are going to kill me with the worry
over all the possibilities.”

“I can not, grandmother. Do not ask.”

“Hold still, Dante,” Miss Murdock
interrupted.

“I am not stupid,” the Duchess cried. “For I
have known what you have been about for years! If you have
suspicion of who robbed me of my son and my daughter-in-law and my
unborn grandchild, I have the right to know.”

But he only sighed and shook his head. “I
will not see your heart broken further,” he told her in a tone that
brooked no argument.

“Poppycock, Dante! For it can be no one close
to us for I have studied the possibilities as closely, I dare say,
as you have.”

But damningly he made no answer.

“Can it?” she asked with sudden dread in her
heart.

“Leave it be, grandmother, for ignorance is
your ally in this matter.” He closed his eyes, the frown growing
between their dark winged brows, and she knew she would gain
nothing more from him.

“Andrew was not even born,” she reminded
him.

“It is not him. That is all I am going to
say, so do not ask me further,” and his eyes snapped open and he
stared at her with finality. “Enough, grandmother,” he told her. “I
do not intend that you ever know, although in the end you may have
your suspicions. Just rest assured that it will be taken care of
and that you may spend the remainder of your days knowing that it
is done.”

“I have as much right to know as you do,” she
challenged him.

“You also have the right to some peace. I
will not compromise that peace by telling you. Leave it be.”

“Damn you, St. James. You have always been
too stubborn for your own good.”

“I do not deny it.”

“Do you wish me to grill Miss Murdock?” she
threatened.

“You will only waste your time for she does
not know. Damn it, I need a drink!”

“I am almost done, milord, so never mind
about a drink now,” Miss Murdock told him.

“Wretched lass,” but he said no more and the
only sound was of her scissors snipping through the final thread
after she knotted it off.

Then she got up and procured clean linens
from above the wardrobe, and St. James moved to sit on the edge of
the bed and raised his arms so that she could wrap his chest, and
the Dowager watched this activity with her eyes stinging, and she
swiped at them feeling very much an interloper.

St. James took up his shirt, and the Dowager
told him, “It is all bloody you know, Dante. Have you nothing else
to wear?”

“No. But Tyler should be here in the morning
with the curricle, and I have a bag in it so that I may change
then.” He looked preoccupied as he struggled into the discussed
garment. As though coming to some decision, his eyes snapped to
full attention upon the dowager. “Grandmother, would it be too much
trouble for Miss Murdock to share your room with you tonight?”

“Actually,” the old lady said with some
acridness, “I think I would be relieved to have Miss Murdock in my
room for the remainder of the night.”

St. James, of course, understood her
instantly. “Posh,” he said, amused. “If I were bent on ruining her,
your presence would hardly deter me.”

“I do not think that is funny, milord,” Miss
Murdock chastised.

“Nor do I!” the Duchess exclaimed, but her
lips twitched. “For that is the most wicked thing I have ever heard
you say.”

“Be that as it may, I will not leave her to
sleep unprotected tonight, and it would be rather better if you
were in presence in case it is discovered that I am in the
bedchamber also.”

“You don't mean to sleep in there with us!”
The Dowager asked.

“Yes. I mean to do so. But do not look so
scandalized, for Miss Murdock is far too tired for me to take any
advantage even if you were not present, and I am hardly in better
condition.”

But Miss Murdock interrupted before the
Dowager could argue further. “You can not think that they would
come into my home!”

“I do not think they will, Lizzie,” he told
her with quiet reassurance, “but you must know by now that I will
not take any risk where your safety is concerned.”

But she seemed a great deal pained and his
words hardly reassured her. “What if they see fit to try burning us
out again?”

“There are only two left,” he told her. “I do
not think they will be so bold, for there are far too many people
in residence, and even they must see that they would be swarmed, if
not by people leaving the house, then by the grooms in the
stable.”

And the Dowager cried in sudden fear and
exclamation, “What ever has been going on? Do not mean to tell me
that you have managed to put Miss Murdock in danger as well!”

St. James sighed. “Yes, grandmother, I have.
Through my own blindness and stupidity and one damned, wayward
handkerchief, I find that Miss Murdock has been made a target also,
and if not quite as satisfactory as my own death, hers is still
greatly desired, for my enemy can not take any chance that we
marry.”

And the Duchess felt very much like that
child hiding beneath the bedclothes again. “Who does this?” she
demanded. “Who dares to threaten not only my grandson, but his
betrothed? How long are you going to be forced to delay this
marriage because of this fiend that dares to interfere in our lives
once again?”

But St. James went to his grandmother and
crouched in front of her. “I will not answer your first question,
but as for the marriage being delayed, I expect that Miss Murdock
and I will be celebrating that very occasion by tonight just across
the Scottish border.”

The Dowager, stunned, looked to Miss Murdock
for guidance, and was just in time to see an equally stunned look
on that young lady's face. “Miss Murdock?” the old lady asked. “You
were unaware of this circumstance?”

But Miss Murdock did not even appear to hear
her, but stood motionless in the middle of the room, her and St.
James' coats that she had picked up clutched to her chest, and her
face was paled with more than tiredness as though she were in
shock.

At her lack of response, St. James turned his
head to observe her also, and slowly her eyes sought his, wide and
frightened and filled with sick dismay. “The handkerchief?”

The Duchess felt St. James' start of
astonishment through his hand upon her arm, and his face darkened,
and his only answer was a stream of soft curses that ended with,
“God damn it, Lizzie, you will put that notion out of your head
immediately.”

But with his cursing she regained her
composure, although she was still very pale, and she only said with
calm faintness, “I nearly had it, you know, that very day in the
mew. Something so clear and obvious that only its very evilness
made it seem impossible—”

“Shut up,” St. James snapped and it acted
like a slap to her face.

Miss Murdock with a flinch quieted. “Of
course. I apologize.”

In unison Miss Murdock and St. James looked
to his grandmother, but she did not notice, for her own eyes had
narrowed in

thought.

St. James asked Lizzie, “Does she know of the
handkerchief?”

“No. For I expressly made sure that she did
not.” But Miss Murdock's voice was worried all the same.

St. James did not answer, only kissed his
grandmother's hand and held it to his cheek for a moment until the
concentration left her face and she looked at him. “It is not your
concern any longer, grandmother,” he told her, “and you should not
worry about it, for you will know nothing until it is over, and
should not know anything then if I can help it.”

The papery lines about her mouth went back
into a tight smile. “And, tsk, St. James. What are you afraid of an
old lady such as myself doing at any rate?”

St. James had no answer for that and he only
helped her from her chair and the three of them went to the old
lady's room next door. There was the bed and two chairs, but no
chaise lounge for Miss Murdock to sleep upon and the Dowager told
her that she must sleep in bed with her, if she did not mind the
slumbering ravings of an old woman at any rate, and Miss Murdock
fretted that she was sure she would only make the Dowager
uncomfortable, but in the end, the bed was large enough for two,
and they both lay down.

The Dowager did not sleep but lay upon her
side and watched her grandson draw up a chair before the window. He
did not sit for a time, but paced along the floor behind it. The
Duchess heard Miss Murdock's breathing turn deeper as she slept.
She saw Dante finally sit in the chair, draw a pistol into one hand
and place his booted feet upon the sill. At last, he appeared to
doze, but even so his eyes opened with regular frequency to
evaluate any small noise he may have heard that had escaped the
Dowager completely.

But she herself slept no more that night, and
her mind spun in her head, and although she could not be sure, she
had her suspicions.

When dawn came, St. James turned his head as
movement came from the bed behind him. He met his grandmother's
faded eyes in the fresh glow of the not yet seen but rising sun.
And if he looked tired, she looked nearly as tired.

But she only bade in a hushed voice, “Help me
to the other room, Dante, and send Soren to me.”

And he rose to do as she bid. Once in the
hallway, she asked, “Your man has not arrived as you
anticipated?”

“No, damn it, he has not,” St. James
answered. “I will give him but another hour before we go on without
him.” He gave his grandmother a rueful smile. “You did not rest
well, grandmother,” he chided her.

“I never do at any rate, Dante, so do not
blame yourself and Miss Murdock. And you had better get a clean
shirt from Andrew as your clothing has not arrived, for if you walk
about looking like that, you may as well put out a billet
proclaiming your injury. Does Andrew know of it, by the by?”

“Yes. For of course, he was with Miss Murdock
when she came to nurse me. Which was a damnedable circumstance I
could have never foreseen, but then there has been much about this
I have failed to foresee.”

But she only patted his arm. “You have done
well, Dante, and your only job now is to marry the lass and see
that she remain safe a little while longer.”

“Yes,” he answered. “And this will be over on
the morrow, I expect, and she will be safe after that whether I am
here to see to it or not.”

The Dowager frowned, but she did not argue,
and he left her in Miss Murdock's former bedchamber and returned to
the hallway. Before closing the door, he asked, “Which room is
Andrew in?”

“The Squire's. Across the hall.”

He nodded. “I shall have Soren in to you
directly, grandmother, so do not become impatient and attempt to
dress yourself.”

“Humph! As if I have not already been the
most patient of people,” she replied. “Get on with you, Dante, for
the hour only grows later.”

He went to the Squire's room, was not
surprised to find that man not in residence as he remembered Lizzie
saying that he rarely came above stairs because of his gout. Andrew
was sleeping in the old bed, the blankets tossed in disarray about
him as though he had spent a restless night. St. James found his
clothing set neatly out, as Andrew did not have the deplorable
habit of treating his attire as though it were some unforgivable
nuisance to be tolerated as his cousin did.

St. James pawed through a surprising variety
of shirts for someone on a short journey, and had selected the
plainest and least adorned of the lot when Andrew spoke from the
bed. “Bloody hell, St. James, but you've managed to rumple the
whole lot of them!”

St. James turned to the bed as Andrew sat up.
“I apologize, Andrew, I did not wish to disturb you, nor to have
you in a state over your clothing,” he told the younger man with a
grin.