In the Brief Eternal Silence (72 page)

Chapter Twenty-seven

Whereas Milord Duke of St. James found a
great deal of amusement in the shot fired from Ryan's pistol, Miss
Murdock, sitting in the parlor with the duke's staid grandmother,
found it rather less so.

She had not fetched the coffee, as had been
her intention, being shooed from that task by a scandalized Mrs.
Herriot. Miss Murdock, disgusted, returned to the parlor, and
although she had a good deal of faith in Bertie to not allow a
tragedy, without the looked for preoccupation of preparing the
morning beverage, she was very concerned, indeed.

She went to the settee, across from the
Dowager in her chair, who looked a good deal strained also, and
they made no conversation, as it was useless to think of
entertaining each other until they were assured that all had been
handled without anyone befalling harm.

Presently, Mrs. Herriot came in with the
coffee tray, loaded with a tall silver urn surrounded by several
silver cups, which Miss Murdock had never before seen in her life.
It was not her father's, by any means, and she had to wonder what
ever in heaven else St. James' energetic and purposeful housekeeper
had changed in her absence. It was no wonder Miss Murdock's father
had looked fagged to death.

She poured and although she was preoccupied
with worry and doubt, it was not evident as she completed this task
with her normal somber grace and handed a cup over to the duchess,
who took it with a shaking hand, which could have been from old
age, or could have been from agitation.

“I am not used to knowing of any of this sort
until it is quite finished,” the duchess lamented, and Miss Murdock
spared her a sympathetic look.

“I am sure we worry for no reason, ma'am,”
she comforted. “For St. James has far too much on his mind to allow
himself to be drawn into anything so ridiculous, and of course,
Bertie shall not let any harm befall his brother.”

“You sound very certain that it will not be
St. James that comes to harm,” the Duchess said with equal measures
of relief and irritation.

“Which is hardly more of a comfort, for I do
not wish to see Ryan come to harm either. Oh, men are such bloody
fools!”

“Indeed they are, Miss Murdock,” the Duchess
agreed. “And I am afraid that my grandson is the biggest fool of
them all.”

But before Miss Murdock could say anything in
return, a pistol was fired from near at hand and she nearly dropped
her coffee cup, stunned that they could, in fact, be so stupid! Her
brown eyes flew to the Dowager's startled, faded ones, and then
Miss Murdock sprang from her seat and slammed her cup down upon the
table. “Well, it is done now, damn him! I shall kill him if he is
not already lying dead!” But her own words bore home to her the
very possibility that Ryan may have prevailed rather than the duke,
and as much as she had tried to remain detached, she knew herself
helpless to be so.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” she said and rushed from
the room, not even aware of the Duchess struggling to arise from
her own seat.

She did not have to search, upon coming
outside, to find them, for they were immediately in her line of
vision, but a short ways down the lane, and her first sight was of
a small cloud of smoke drifting above Ryan and Andrew's heads, who
seemed to be in some earnest and heated discussion.

The fact that Ryan was still standing filled
her with dread.

Then she looked beyond them and her worst
fear was brought to the fore as she saw St. James doubled over and
clutching his stomach.

She picked up her skirts and flew down the
steps, hot tears stinging her eyes. Ryan and Andrew turned toward
St. James also and, as if her own action had spurred them, ran
toward the duke, who oddly enough, had not yet fallen to the
ground.

And Miss Murdock had but reached the head of
the lane, where the wide drive in front of the house narrowed, when
she saw St. James straighten as Andrew and Ryan reached him. She
had one clear look at his face before he was blocked from her sight
by the two taller young men.

She stopped running and stood motionless, for
she saw that he was not injured, but was overcome with laughter to
a near helpless degree.

She stood there for several minutes, her
heart booming in her chest from her fright, and she called herself
a fool. A bigger fool than the Dowager thought her grandson. A
bigger fool, even, than she had been to ride from her home with him
five mornings ago, to go to him in the night in his carriage, to go
to him again and tend to his wounds, to go with him yet again when
rushing from flames and from bullets, and then instead of cutting
him off from her when she had a final chance, had contrarily
crawled into his open arms, his open coat, and fused herself to his
bleeding chest and rested and took comfort in him.

It all rushed home to her as she stood there
for those few minutes, St. James immersed in mirth, and she
immersed in terror. The one final thing he asked of her was nearly
insignificant to all that she had already willingly given.

She was a fool to have thought that there
would be some point of no return that she would recognize and heed
and turn back before passing. She had passed it already, and she
was not sure at which action taken it had been. It may have been
the first, when she had cooked him a meal instead of giving him
only coffee as he had asked, or perhaps not until the last, when he
admitted to having every intention of killing Steven's father, and
had threatened a seven year old boy, and she had not held him in
abhorrence even then.

Perhaps for that second, she understood him
completely.

He laughed at his own pain and his own
misery. He was moved to an uncommon degree by the sufferings of
others, but his own he disregarded as some old handicap that he had
grown used to, had learned to not only bear it, but use it to some
sick and twisted advantage. He killed without qualm, for he
accepted his own death without qualm, and perhaps even with relief,
for only then would grief, succored and nurtured, be at last laid
to rest.

The very thing he sought to destroy another
with destroyed him

also. And he called it justice. He called it
vengeance.

Miss Murdock called it abomination.

The fact that she knew herself to be willing
to die for him, she took as madness and iniquity, but she could not
help herself, and neither would she fight it any longer. If he came
to her at that moment and plunged a knife into his own heart, she
would follow him without hesitation.

The small group of men that she stared at
without seeing came into sudden activity, speeding toward the
stables. She waited for St. James to look up, to see her there, to
perhaps come to her, but he did not even glance in her direction
and there was no longer any amusement in his face, nor those of the
others.

Her father came into the lane from the back
road to the stables, she noticed, and he rode in a cart, his
dressing gown looking incongruous, and St. James paused to speak to
him. And Miss Murdock noticed at last that Steven was there in the
midst of the men, and somehow she knew that this could not be good,
for Tyler and the curricle were no where to be seen.

As if drawn by her thoughts of him, Steven's
gray eyes flashed over to her, finding a path through the restless
movements of Ryan, Bertie and Andrew. St. James continued to the
stables, the others following, and Miss Murdock's father was
climbing from the cart, but Steven, alone, came toward Miss
Murdock.

“What is the matter, Steven?” she asked as he
came up to her.

“T'is Tyler, Miss! We was set upon on t'road,
by the same two as had it in fer you an' t'duke, Tyler 'spects. He
got wounded in 'is leg and t'horse he were ridin' went down. He
rode with me for a ways, but then he couldn't hang on any further
an' sent me on ahead to warn m'lord they was as like headed here
sooner if not later.”

“And St. James is even now going to him?” she
asked, but she knew that of course he would.

“Aye. T'is what he is 'bout now. I'm to take
t'cart to fetch Tyler in, an' m'lord, he says he'll see that I'm
undisturbed to go 'bout me business.”

“You will be careful, Steven, won't you?”

“Aye. Coo, miss! Wouldn't miss it, I
wouldn't! For t'was a grand sight watchin' 'im get you from me
'ouse yesterday!”

“And you are getting more of an education
than is necessarily good for you,” she told him. “But nevermind,
for I would wager that milord trusts you more than Ryan or Andrew
at any rate, and I doubt that he will take Bertie, for of course,
he will ask him to stay here to keep me safe. Silly fool.”

“Aye, miss. T'is what I gathered,” Steven
agreed. “But I had a message to give to t'duchess from Tyler, if
she be up,” he added.

Surprised, Miss Murdock said, “Why I will
give it to her if you do not wish to delay.”

And Steven looked very uncomfortable and only
said, “Sorry, miss, but Tyler, he tolds me not t'give it t'anyone
but t'duchess, not even m'lord himself. So's I better give it t'her
meself.”

“Well, of course, then,” Miss Murdock agreed.
“She is right through the door and on your left if she remains
where I last saw her. Go on now, for I shall be going to the
stables for a word with St. James before he leaves out of here
without even a goodbye, which I would wager is his intention.”

Steven pulled at the lock of his hair and
hurried past, and Miss Murdock turned to go to the stables. And she
did not know if she were about to kill St. James or mayhaps save
him, she only knew what had to be said and what had to be done.

There was a great deal of activity once she
reached the stables, but for the most part it appeared to be
useless. Only St. James was going about anything with an appearance
of purpose, leading a horse that Miss Murdock was unfamiliar with
from a stall partway down the aisle.

Bertie and Andrew conferred in hushed tones
with each other. Ryan walked with quick and flustered strides up
the aisle with a saddle in his hands, its girth straps dragging so
that he was nearly tripping on them causing Miss Murdock to wonder
if that young man had ever even saddled his own horse.

A young groom ran toward milord, but his
hands were empty and he appeared to not have the least idea what
was expected of him.

At the same time, St. James said, “Damn it,
Ryan, I need a bridle also!”

And Miss Murdock with perfect calmness went
to fetch that item as Ryan awkwardly handed the saddle to the groom
just arriving. The stirrup irons dangled, as well as the straps,
and St. James stepped forward while still holding the horse's
halter and with impatience flipped up one iron and one strap so the
groom could place the saddle on the horse. He glanced up,
perceiving Miss Murdock's presence and he hesitated in whatever
dire curse he seemed about to utter.

Ryan turned, nearly ran into Miss Murdock as
she came forward with the bridle. “Miss Murdock!” he exclaimed.
“You should not be here now, for you will only get in the way, you
know!”

But she only stepped around him and handed
the bridle to St. James. He gave her a searching look that showed
he was uneasy with her presence, but she only said, “Milord, if you
think you and the groom have your mount well in hand, I should like
to send Ryan to fetch for a doctor so that he may be here upon your
and Tyler's return.”

His hands did not falter from forcing the
horse's mouth open and placing in the bit of the bridle. “If it
shall make you content to remain here, Miss Murdock, then I will
agree. For I do not wish you to get some wild notion in your head
that you are going to follow along with your needle and thread in
order to run triage at the scene.”

“That is not my intention in the least,” she
told him and he gave her a lauding look from his gold eyes despite
his involvement in readying to go.

“You heard her, Ryan. Fetch the nearest
doctor and have him waiting. I am sure the Squire can instruct you
upon where that good man can be found.”

“I take it that you intend to go alone,
milord, with only Steven to drive the cart?” Miss Murdock
asked.

“Yes. And I will brook no argument upon that
point either, Miss Murdock. Steven should be quite safe, as I
intend to have whatever business needs being done finished before
he should arrive. One way or the other.”

“Of course,” she agreed, and this time his
hands stopped and he frowned at her.

“Unusually compliant, Miss Murdock. I find
that foreboding rather than comforting.”

“I have every intention of meeting your
wishes, milord, so indeed, you should find that comforting. I will
not follow along behind you, nor will I argue and insist that you
should take Bertie or anyone else with you. Nor do I have any doubt
that you would die sooner than see Steven come to harm. I only ask
that when you are finished here, that you meet me outside for a
private word before leaving.” Only the small shaking in her voice
warned him that there was something else going on in her mind that
he was not going to like.

“Very well, Miss Murdock. But be advised that
if I had any choice, I would not be delaying my plans for tonight
so drastically, and hence I can not accommodate any of your wishes
at this time that may run contrary to my going.”

“Indeed, I did not expect that you could.”
She turned from him before he could say anything further, but she
was very aware of his gold eyes on her back, frowning and
concerned.

She stopped to speak to Lord Tempton before
passing from the stables. “Bertie, as I take it you are to remain
with me, I wish you to direct that Andrew's carriage be made ready
as soon as possible, if you please.”

“Now, Miss Murdock,” he sputtered. “He'll not
have you trailing him, as you should very well know!”