In the Brief Eternal Silence (7 page)

She pulled her robe belt tighter, ran a hand
through her loose hair, in some attempt to make semblance of it,
and flung the door open. A deep flush took hold of her features as
she recognized the man in front of her. There was no mistaking the
dark, unruly hair, the laconic dissipation of his face, or the
glimmering brightness of his gold eyes. “Milord,” she said, feeling
both shock and resentment that he should forever be seeing her when
either muddy or mussed. She was also certain that whatever
difficulty her father found himself in that this man was directly
responsible. “What has happened to my father?”

“A bit of drink, Miss Murdock. You are indeed
Miss Murdock?” he asked, and when she nodded, he gave a mocking bow
in her direction. “I apologize, but you were quite unrecognizable
upon our first meeting. But as I was saying of your father, a tad
too much drink. If we can endeavor to get him inside and in bed, he
will be better in the morning, although in all probability, well
and truly hungover.”

Miss Murdock, smelling a strong stench of
booze coming from her informer also, said, “I will fetch a lamp
then, and be with you,” which she did, getting one from the parlor
and lighting it. When she returned to the door, the duke was beside
his curricle, and between he and the groom, they managed to alight
her father upon his feet between them.

She hurried to light their way, and with the
Squire's arms slung around their shoulders, an awkward picture, as
the groom was taller than the Squire and the duke was shorter, they
stumbled toward the front steps and the house.

Miss Murdock said nothing as they made slow
progress, merely listened to a long string of whispered cursing
from the duke, and an answering admonishment from the groom that if
his lordship were not so drunk himself, the task would have been
all the easier.

“And if the man did not weigh close to twenty
stone, it would be a good deal easier also,” the duke returned in
an aggravated voice.

“Perhaps I should rouse Kennedy from the
stables,” Miss Murdock suggested as they all stopped before the
stairs. There were only six flagstone steps up to the front door,
but they suddenly seemed very long to her and she knew from prior
experience that they seemed impossible to the two men that were
supporting the considerable weight of her father.

“No, Miss Murdock,” the duke replied. “We
will manage, I believe.” He moved one of his hands from supporting
the Squire and made a quick swipe at his face with the sleeve of
his coat, wiping it clean of the sweat that was upon his brow. Then
his gold eyes beaconed at her. “I apologize, Miss Murdock, for the
condition of your father. But I assure you, although I did the
pouring, he did the drinking.”

“As did you, I should hazard to say,” Miss
Murdock returned tartly. “But do not blame yourself too much,” she
relented, seeing his quick frown, “for I allow that it is not the
first time he has come home in such a condition, nor, probably,
will it be his last. I must confess myself grateful that at least
you and your man are here to shoulder the burden instead of myself
and old Kennedy, as it normally is.”

He gave a slight, amused smile at that. “Well
then, Miss Murdock, if you and an elderly groom can manage, then it
seems that we must, for it would never do to have it said that we
can not even take on a task that an old man and a wisp of a girl
can do.”

She didn't return his smile, her face
remaining solemn as she answered. “Yes, milord. But we are not
usually drunk when we are attempting it.”

“All the more is the pity. Come, Tyler. Let
us get him up and in, for I'm afraid my shoulders are becoming
quite numb from the supporting of him.”

“Any time you're done jawing, milord,” the
groom returned. “T'was not I, I remind you, that needed a
rest.”

The duke grunted, and then with Miss Murdock
again going before them, they started up the steps. Again the only
sound was muttered oaths, and an occasional, “Watch it, damn it,
Tyler, or we'll all be flat on our faces!”

They managed at last to get the Squire to the
top and in the front door, which Miss Murdock closed behind them,
relieved to be out of the cold, for if the duke and his groom were
sweating from their exertion, she was freezing with only her robe
and sleeping gown on. “His bedroom is above stairs,” she couldn't
resist saying as she saw his lordship eyeing the steep, long stairs
with every appearance of loathing.

“Very funny, Miss Murdock. You will not
convince me even in my present condition that you and your groom
manage to get him up those stairs and tucked neatly into bed!”

She couldn't help but smile as she shook her
head. “Indeed, we do not, nor would we be silly enough to try. If
you will just bring him into the parlor, he will be quite
comfortable on the sofa. He normally sleeps there at any rate, for
when his gout is acting up, he does not go up the stairs even when
he is sober.”

“You have my eternal gratitude.”

It took some comic maneuvering to get her
father through the parlor door, as it was narrower than the main
entrance, but at last they succeeded and with twin groans of
relief, the duke and his groom settled her father onto the
sofa.

Miss Murdock set down the lamp, kneeled by
her father and unbuttoned his coat, despaired of getting it off
him. He opened his eyes once, looked unseeingly at her, and then
closed them to begin snoring now in hard earnest. She gave a little
resigned sigh, settled with loosening his collar and cravat, and
rose once again, now wondering what she was to do with the two men
that stood in her parlor in the middle of the night.

The Duke of St. James unbuttoned his great
coat. “Tyler, if you will see to the horses?”

Miss Murdock divined, less than happily, that
he intended to stay. She would have to make up a spare room, she
supposed, and none of them had been used in several years. “Call
for our groom, his name is Kennedy, as I said, when you reach the
stable, Tyler is it?”

The lordship's groom nodded. “Yes, miss.
Pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“And you, I'm sure, Tyler. Kennedy sleeps
above the stables, and he can direct you where to put the horses
and where the feed and hay is kept. He'll also make you comfortable
afterward.” She turned to St. James. “And I can make up a spare
room for you, milord, but as that will take a few minutes, can I
interest you in something to eat or drink?” He shrugged with an
effort from his coat, and she took it from him. She dropped her
gaze to the rich blue, heavy cloth of it, suddenly finding it
easier to stare at than to meet his bemused gold eyes.

“Coffee, I think, Miss Murdock. If it is not
too much trouble.”

“Not at all. I would deem myself a poor
hostess indeed if I could not even boil water. Would you like to
come along with me to the kitchen? Or I can make you comfortable in
here, although my father does tend to snore loudly.” She put a hand
to her forehead in thought. “Or the dining room, but it is under
dust cloths and hasn't been used in years.”

He raised a dark brow. “The kitchen will be
more than adequate, I think, Miss Murdock. It is not my intention
to put you out at half-past two in the morning entertaining me.” He
turned to Tyler. “I'll call for you when I am ready, Tyler.”

“Milord,” the groom returned with a small
pull on his cap, and then he left to go to the stables, and Miss
Murdock had the sudden realization that she was alone with the Duke
of St. James, he of the sordid reputation, with only a drunken,
passed-out father for protection.

His eyes did not reassure her, for he had
focused all of his considerable attention upon her, an attention
she felt she neither warranted nor welcomed, and she flushed
lightly, imagining how she must look, in her worn sleeping costume
and thread-bare, colorless robe, her hair down her back and tangled
and her face not even washed of sleep. A more pitiful specimen of
the fairer sex he had probably never encountered, and she could not
blame him if his silence were one of shock and dismay.

But be that as it may, she could do nothing
to rectify the situation at this moment, and so turned on her
slippered heel and said, “If you will follow me, milord?” of which
he did.

Her first assessment that he was in no better
shape than her father became apparent as he stumbled through the
door to the hallway with her, and then immediately leaned one
shoulder against the wall of the hall, and proceeded down it,
halting often, using the wall to support himself. She slowed her
own steps to match his, knew not whether to be disgusted with his
behavior, or to laugh at the utter ludicrousness of it.

“You are a sorry sight, milord,” she could
not resist commenting when once he reeled away from the wall and
then found it again with a painful bump of his shoulder.

He stopped, threw her a crooked grin that
made her stomach do a sudden, unexpected lurch, and made her smile
freeze foolishly on her face. “As are you, Miss Murdock,” he
returned. “But I should wager that in the morning, we shall both be
looking a good deal more fit.”

It was a long trek to the kitchen, for
although the house was old and dilapidated, it was quite large, and
with the duke's slow and laborious moving, it was another minute or
two before she directed him into the kitchen, and taking her lamp,
set it upon the large, square, wooden table and indicated a seat
for him to take.

He settled himself into it with every
appearance of relief. Without comment, he cupped his forehead in
his hands in brooding silence.

Miss Murdock left him be. She lit another few
lamps to see by, stoked the still glowing embers of the fire in the
stove and added fuel to set it again snapping. She got a streak of
soot across her face in the process, gave it a brief wipe with a
rag, then pulled out a bag of ground coffee and the coffee pot. She
filled the pot with water, added the grounds, and put it on the
stove. They were all tasks that she had performed many times, and
she fell into them without thought and with a serene rhythm.

St. James closed his eyes, the quiet lulling
him and easing the pounding that was already enveloping his head.
Miss Murdock did not chatter, and he was thankful for that. He was
not a man given to doubts, not because he never had them but
because he refused to entertain them. They had their place to
insure proper reasoning, but if one let them grow, one would find
oneself paralyzed and incapable of any decision and any action.

Now, as he listened to the brief, soothing
sounds of the fire being stoked, the coffee being put on, and cups
being retrieved and set down, he allowed himself to review his
doubts, and then discarded them. His actions appeared rash, but
they were well thought out in advance. He had settled on marriage
as being his last ploy to flush out an enemy un-seen, and although
he had not foreseen how he was to go about procuring a wife without
wooing, pursuing, and otherwise deceiving a young miss into that
role, he had certainly recognized the perfect opportunity when it
had been presented to him.

He removed his hands from his brow, slouched
back in his chair, and concentrated on the female before him. She
was plain, as her father had said, but not displeasing. She had an
ordinary face, with ordinary features, and perhaps if just one of
those features had been out of the ordinary, had been remarkable,
then she could have been quite breath-taking. But every feature was
ordinary. From the average brown of her hair to the solemn brown of
her eyes. And her skin was certainly too brown, far beyond the
realm of fashionable and more in the area of commonness.

Her form, petite and rather delicate, as
suited her small stature, was not voluptuous in the least, and
induced thoughts of efficiency rather than romance. Her hands were
small, but the nails of her fingers were cut short, showing she
viewed them more as tools to be used than a point of vanity. Even
now, after giving him an appraising look, she took out a side of
pork and cut off strips with a large knife and settled them into a
cast iron pan to fry. To this, she added eggs, and then using a
bread knife, cut off slices from a loaf, placed them in a toasting
iron and opening the door to the stove fire, propped it just above
the flames. She took out a large mound of churned butter from the
pantry and set it on the table.

All of her actions, St. James observed, were
done with practiced economy and efficiency, relaxed concentration
on her nondescript face, and he was suddenly moved by the thought
of a hummingbird hovering in mid-air as it gathered nectar from a
morning-glory. And if Miss Murdock were not as flashy as that
hummingbird, she was certainly as riveting in her effortless
complacency as she went about her tasks.

He could well believe that no one had ever
found her exciting, but as St. James watched her move about in the
dark of early morning, with her hair undone and down her back, and
a faint streak of soot still upon one cheek, and her robe
fluttering open to reveal her thin gown that was moved by her
slender legs, it occurred to him that he had more excitement than
most in his thirty and three years, and that it was very pleasant
indeed to allow her silent serenity to wash over him, like a balm
on an itchy patch of skin.

And if her solemn eyes met his from time to
time, taking his measure with a quiet and somewhat timid curiosity,
he did not blink, but met her questioning with a sudden sureness
that he would not have guessed at. For he was quite certain that
Miss Murdock was precisely what he needed for his plans, and for
the first time, he thought it may just be possible that he not only
complete his endeavor, but survive the completing of it.

The coffee was ready and Miss Murdock filled
his cup, placed it in front of him. He declined her offers of cream
and sugar, and instead took it black. She watched his long fingers
as they wrapped about the cup with a simple and elegant grace. He
raised the cup to his lips, paused a moment as his gold eyes
focused on her. Nonplused, she turned, took a cloth and removed the
hot skillet from the stove. She fixed him a plate of side, eggs and
toast. She put out some homemade peach preserves, and then when she
saw that he had all he needed, she poured herself a cup of coffee
and sat at the table, its wide, wooden expanse separating them,
leaving her at one end and he at the other.