In the Brief Eternal Silence (70 page)

“When the hell did you blow in? And where is
Miss Murdock?”

St. James removed his bloody shirt. “About
three hours ago and Miss Murdock is currently sleeping in our
grandmother's room.”

“Have you been shot again?” Andrew asked as
St. James tossed his ruined shirt into the lit fireplace as though
it were so much old news-print.

“No. Only tore the stitches of Miss Murdock's
previous endeavors, of which she has been kind enough to sew me up
once again.”

“Well, I hope you know,” Andrew continued
with indignation, “that we have all been in a state wondering where
she was and what should have become of her! We had decided that we
would travel to London today to demand explanation from you!”

“You should have very well known that I would
have her with me,” St. James countered, “and that I would not let
any harm befall her.”

“No,” Andrew replied, petulant, “for how was
I to know that, when you assured me she would be here in
Chestershire, a little late perhaps, but here all the same.”

“And so she now is,” St. James said,
buttoning his pilfered shirt. “And get dressed, Andrew, for I can
not waste time and if you wish to know the story you shall have to
ask your questions while I fetch grandmother's lady's maid, for she
is waiting, you know.”

“Hell and Damnation upon your soul, St.
James, for you are the most aggravating of cousins!” Andrew threw
back his covers and stood entirely naked from the bed. “I need not
tell you that you have a good deal of explaining to do and not only
to me but to the Squire, who is convinced you have ruined his
daughter and are buying him off with this display of improvement in
his home, and to Ryan also, who is livid that you should have in
any way besmirched Miss Murdock's name further.”

But St. James, diverted by Andrew's complete
lack of clothing when sleeping, only said, “My God! But how do you
get away with it, for my own valet is in horrors that I sleep in
only my shorts!”

Andrew blushed at these laughing words,
snagged some clothing to don. “I would not have expected you of all
people to bring me to task over the way I sleep!” he grumbled. “And
Miss Murdock, by the by, gave me quite a fright the night she came
in to wake me to tell me of your injury. I only thank God that I do
not sleep with my curtains open and the moon shining in as you have
said on occasion that you do.”

“Well, you really should wear at least
shorts, you know, Andrew, although even they are a great bother.
For one night you may have a visitor bent on doing you harm and it
is hard to concentrate upon defending yourself when you are mindful
that if you should fire a shot, the whole household will be down
upon your head and you shall be standing there in all your glory.
Or worse, dead upon the floor with not even a stitch of clothing
on.”

Andrew turned thoughtful at this advice and
admitted, “Had not considered that, I confess. But I can see where
it could be a distraction.”

St. James went to the door, Andrew's plain
white lawn shirt drooping overlarge at the shoulders, but even this
careless look made him seem only somehow more dangerous. “I shall
see you below for coffee for I dare not make grandmother wait any
longer than necessary or she shall be banging her cane and we will
not get even a moment to talk quietly before every one else is up
and about.”

Even as he spoke these words, there was a
loud banging from the closed door across from them that
reverberated through the floor and throughout the house. “Damn it!”
St. James muttered and left the room.

He met Mrs. Herriot in the hallway, looking a
little less crisp than was her norm. She curtsied her large figure
and her face was a creasing of rapturous smiles. “Oh, milord! You
have arrived at last! And is your Miss Murdock here also?”

“Yes, Mrs. Herriot, and Lord Tempton is with
us also. Will you fetch Soren for grandmother? And send her to Miss
Murdock's old bedchamber, as she has gone in there so that she may
be dressed without disturbing my betrothed?”

“Oh, yes, milord! It is true then that you
have become engaged?” and he would have been pleasantly distracted
by her joyous response if he had not so much upon his mind.

“Indeed, yes, Mrs. Herriot, but I must go
below—”

The door down the hallway opened and Miss
Murdock appeared from the bedchamber, and since she had slept in
her riding habit she was looking very deplorable indeed. St. James
cut off his words at sight of her and stood grinning in the
hallway, and Mrs. Herriot, perceiving the expression on his face,
turned with a great deal of anticipated delight to see at last what
young Miss could put such a look of devotion upon his lordship's
face.

And the smile froze upon her face for the
sight that met her eyes was so far from what she had been expecting
that she nearly burst into frustrated tears. The young Miss that
turned to her was of small stature and inconsequential figure. Her
hair was a mass of tangles that she was even now trying to
distractedly arrange. Her face was much too tanned and her eyes
were of no particular shade of brown, but were rather solemn and a
great deal dulled by fatigue (and, Mrs. Herriot noted with
something akin to horror, bloodshot!), and she did not have any
laudable feature that Mrs. Herriot could determine but was frankly,
quite plain.

And the Duke just behind her, rather than
being put off by this lamentable picture, only said, “You are
looking very well this morning, Miss Murdock,” in a teasing voice
that for some reason made Mrs. Herriot's comfortably round face
blush.

“And I am certain that I do not,” Miss
Murdock said with tired annoyance, “and I can not understand why
you insist upon saying I do when I dare say you have not seen me at
my best for even one moment since we have met.”

“But you were looking very fine at Almacks,”
he replied.

“Do not remind me of that, milord, or you
shall have me angry at you already this morning, for I need not
tell you that I am still most unhappy with your behavior of that
night.” Then she turned her attention to the housekeeper that stood
rather stunned between them. “I am sorry, for I can only guess what
you must be thinking to find me in such a pitiful state and arguing
with milord at this early hour of the morning.”

And Mrs. Herriot, touched somehow by this
tired sincerity, clucked and said, “And I am sure that you are
quite done in, Miss, and should return immediately to your bed and
allow your lady's maid to bring up chocolate to you! I am Mrs.
Herriot, by the way, and you are—you are Miss Murdock?” and there
was such question in her voice that milord behind her burst out
laughing, causing Miss Murdock to give him a quelling glare.

“Yes,” that Miss reassured the housekeeper.
“I know that everyone is always most disappointed in me, of which I
can hardly blame them, but I am Miss Murdock.”

“Shame, Lizzie,” St. James teased, “for you
will put even me to the blush at such a self-deprecating speech,
when I am sure Mrs. Herriot will agree with me that you are quite
the loveliest thing she has ever seen, even with your hair a mess
and your clothing looking as though you had slept in them.”

“Oh, botheration!” Miss Murdock returned. “I
can see that you are looking nearly fresh this morning after only a
few hours sleep, and so, as usual, are looking much finer than I.
And for someone who has claimed to never knowingly lie, I have
found that you do so on an appallingly regular basis when it comes
to my appearance.”

“Not at all,” St. James denied and added as
his grandmother's cane could be heard banging again from behind the
closed bedchamber door, “Mrs. Herriot, if you would fetch
Soren?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Herriot said, jumping
slightly, for she had been standing somewhat dazed in betwixt them
and she bobbed a curtsy to Miss Murdock. “Pleased to meet you,
Miss,” and she bustled down the hallway.

St. James said, “Come here, Lizzie, and let
me fix your hair, for frankly you are making a mess of it.”

He straightened and pinned her hair and when
his finger smoothed down the vein in her neck, Lizzie leaned back
against him and sighed. “I shall feel better, I wager, after I have
had a cup of coffee.”

Downstairs, they checked in on her father,
who was sleeping upon the sofa in the parlor. The sound of hurried
footsteps on the stairs forewarned them of Andrew, who came into
the parlor, dressed and shaved.

Miss Murdock gave an exclamation of surprise,
went to him and gave him a brief hug beneath St. James' bemused
gold eyes. “Andrew! What ever are you doing here?”

And unaccountably he colored. “I came to make
sure that you and Bertie had arrived safely, and found when I got
here that you had not arrived at all.”

“Well we are here now,” she told him. “And
Bertie, also, but he must have found a room above stairs, for I
have not seen him yet this morning and he must still be sleeping.
And I did not mean to cause worry but I was very concerned about
Steven, you know, and could not in all conscious come to
Chestershire when he was still unaccounted for.”

“That is what delayed you then,” and he gave
St. James such a look of accusation that Lizzie was taken aback
with it.

“Why, yes, of course. What else would I have
been doing?” she asked a little puzzled.

“We were not sure,” Andrew returned, “but I
fear that between your father and Ryan, and yes, I admit, myself,
we had jumped to some rather damning conclusions.”

“Oh, you did not!” and she gave a peal of
laughter. “For I assure you, we have been much too busy for any
such nonsense as the three of you have dreamed up.”

“I do not find it such a ridiculous notion,”
Andrew huffed, “when one considers that St. James has done nothing
but try to ruin you from the beginning. Even my mother told me that
she caught the two of you riding in a coach in the midst of the
night, of which I was quite unawares.” And he looked hurt as well
as angry.

But St. James interrupted at this point.
“Indeed, Andrew? And she has put in your head the notion that I
have compromised Miss Murdock?”

Andrew reddened. “She did not 'put it in my
head', she merely observed that it was most unseemly and if one
were to draw conclusions, what other conclusion was there to draw.
And then when you consider your showing up at Almack's with that
damned handprint upon your face,” he added with growing anger,
“which you made blatantly clear to everyone that Miss Murdock had
placed it there, and it seems to me that my mother's take on the
situation has not been inaccurate.”

“Go carefully, Andrew,” St. James warned,
“for you are very close to crossing the line. You may call into
question my character all you wish, but I advise you most heartily
against questioning Miss Murdock's virtue.”

“If her virtue is in question, you have no
one to blame but yourself!” Andrew exclaimed with heat.

But Miss Murdock stepped between them.
“Enough!” she cried. “For I have not even yet had a cup of coffee
this morning and I can not take this sudden bickering between the
two of you. Andrew,” her brown eyes flashed, “whatever has come
over you, for I would have sworn that you knew your cousin well
enough to know that he would in no way harm me?”

“I no longer know what to believe,” Andrew
replied with as much confusion as wrath.

He glanced at St. James half in challenge,
half searching for reassurance, but St. James only regarded him
with a steady reflective look.

Before anything else could be said, the
Squire's snoring stopped with a snort. The three of them turned to
him as he opened his eyes, and his gaze fell first on Lizzie, who
was standing closest to him. His eyes widened and he sat
ponderously up and held a hand to her, which she took, and he drew
her down to sit next to him on the sofa. He was dirty and sweaty
and smelled of too much drinking and not enough bathing, but she
did not care, only hugged him and hid her face in his shoulder,
very near tears.

“Oh, father. I have been so worried for you.
And now I find that you have been pestered nearly to death with all
of St. James' servants.”

“'Deed, I have been,” the Squire pronounced.
“And I should have hunted him down for only that even if he had not
abused you terribly as I am convinced he has.”

But Lizzie drew back at his words and wiped
at her eyes. “Oh, that is all so much rot, you know, father, for
the banns are in the paper and he does in fact mean to marry me,
however much I may beg him not to.”

“What is this?” the Squire asked, and he
raised his eyes to St. James. “I have checked the papers daily and
have seen no sign of banns, miduke, so you have best not assured my
Lizzie that they are in when I am afraid you are but misleading her
to gain your own purposes.”

And St. James, with a weary gesture, pulled
his watch once again from his pocket and muttered as he did so from
between clenched teeth, “I did not think that a simple gesture on
my part would prove to be so necessary.” He opened the back of the
watch and tossed the folded paper to the Squire. “Here, damn it!
For it was in yesterday's paper and I would wager it has not made
it to this area until this morning.”

The Squire unfolded the paper, scanned it and
handed it back. “It had best not be a trick, miduke, for I had
already made up my mind to demand satisfaction and damn you and
your attempts at buying me off!”

“Jesus, God in Heaven,” St. James said,
losing patience. “I swear I shall marry her if I have to ride
through hell to accomplish it, however much everyone seems to doubt
and disbelieve it. I had no other intention from the beginning, and
I have no other intention now! So you may all be hanged, for all I
care. I have not the time to stand here and argue with you any
further. Make of it what you will and be damned.” He turned and
strode from the room and they heard the front door slam behind
him.