In the Brief Eternal Silence (81 page)

“And there was the third betrayal. He knew
how many shares I had bought in the company, but his precious
scruples were such that he would see even me ruined before advise
her against his conscience!

“It was very simple after that. I sent a note
by messenger to the foreman of the East India Company shipping
docks, who was in charge of the warehouses and all the dockworkers,
suspecting that they were nervous for their jobs. And I hit upon a
great bit of luck, for that man in charge of the docks was also, I
later found, dealing a great deal of opium on the black market, and
he feared having his supply dry up. He was very interested when he
received my note saying that I knew of a way to remove a roadblock
preventing the war between Britain and China.

“I set it up. I anticipated the moves. I knew
William would go immediately upon a summons from the Queen. I knew
Margaret would jump at the chance to escape Morningside and go back
to her shallow partying and that Dante would plead in his pitiful
way to be allowed to accompany them.

“The men were in place. The coach was brought
around. In one act, I could ensure my holdings would be beyond
value, my coming child would get his rightful inheritance, and
William, well, William would pay for all of his perfidy.”

Lydia stopped, steadying herself. “So you see
how it came about Lenora? It was not me but the three sins. The
three sins of your son.

“It was not so bad that there should be three
deaths to atone for them. And perhaps that is why St. James was
allowed to escape, because then I would have not been even, but
ahead. William, Margaret, and her unborn child. Three for three.
And what I did was not so very wrong, for even had St. James died,
it would still have been William's own son that would inherit.
Andrew was born the son of a Duke, not an Earl.

“For twenty-three years I have lived with the
consequences of my vengeance, Lenora. For twenty-three years I have
lived with the specter of St. James digging about, seeking his own
vengeance, and knowing that if he were not stopped that the trail
would someday lead to me. And I do owe him now, for you were
correct and I did kill Morty, for he was very close indeed, and I
find that his will was made out in such a way as to confirm my
suspicion, for did you know that he has stripped me of everything
upon St. James' marriage? Oh, yes. So you see, even if I feel a
little contrite, even if I feel that I may in fact deserve to die
for what I have done, I can not let him have control of all that I
worked so hard for if Andrew should die and the estate still be in
St. James' control. I sacrificed too much to allow St. James to own
it. And he is as bad, worse than his father. For he does not even
have the decency to hide his sins, but flaunts them for all to
see.

“He simply can not marry. I would have
tolerated his being alive otherwise. I was certain he would die
before Andrew, for look at the way he has lived, and I was content
to wait. But you will not be too surprised to learn, I am sure,
that with Miss Murdock's appearance on the scene that it has been
necessary to take action once again. Even as we speak, I have
assassins that may now be killing your precious grandson.

“And then who will stop me? You? Your aging
butler? I think not.

For I am leaving and you will not find me and
soon you will both die, for you are very old. And then Andrew will
heed my every wish. He will be the Duke of St. James and I—”

But the Dowager attempted to stand at the
words of St. James mayhaps even now being killed, and the specter
of him lying helpless and injured, perhaps even now dead overcame
her completely. Ashton, despite being numb with the horror of
Lydia's revelations, automatically took the dowager's arm and
helped her to rise. And even as the old lady rose, she turned the
cane in her hand so that the heavy gold head of it raised high in
the air. As Lydia spit out her final words of scheming, unable even
now to see more than a minor hitch in her plans at being forced
into exile, the dowager swung the cane with her weak but determined
arm.

Lydia gave a squeak as, too late, she saw the
blow coming. She jerked her arms up to deflect the blow, but it
whistled down before she could defend herself and the heavy gold
head of the cane caught her between the eyes.

She went down hard, a large round dent where
the bridge of her nose had been, and she squirmed on the floor, her
face a mass of running blood. Ashton released the Duchess's arm in
horror as he realized what had been done and he backed quickly
away.

But the dowager remained standing as she had
patiently waited for twenty-three years and she was not about to
allow her legs to keep her from her task now. Panting but
determined, she whistled the gold head of her cane down on Lydia
again. And a third time. And gasping, and clutching her chest, she
brought it down a fourth time. Then she collapsed to the floor
beside her daughter-in-law and her own throat gurgled, loud, raspy
and prophetic, joining the gagging coming from Lydia. The two of
them together rattled their last breaths, Lydia with her skull
smashed in and the Duchess with an attack of her old heart. Ashton
looked on helplessly and wondered however he was to explain this
mess and his old heart felt close to an apoplexy itself.

He turned to the door, wanting first a
steadying cup of tea and time to desperately think. And the door
was opened, the chair that the dowager had risen from (with his
help, God forgive him!) was pushed from in front of it and Ashton
looked up and met the frozen eyes of Earl Larrimer.

They stared at each other for a long moment,
both of them heavily breathing and immobile in their stances, and
then Ashton cleared his throat and said, “I thought a cup of tea
might be what was needed at this moment, milord, until I can quite
get my wits back.”

Andrew nodded his head like a puppet, said in
a dull voice, “Better put a large dose of whiskey in them, Ashton.
I tell you what. You get the tea and I shall get the whiskey.”
Ashton left the room and Andrew closed the door behind them, but
whereas Ashton continued down to the kitchens, Andrew remained
leaning against the door, his eyes closed and every limb shaking
for many minutes.

Then he pulled himself from the door, hobbled
on his injured leg below stairs and to the drawing room. There he
selected a fine decanter of liquor, removed the crystal stopper and
took a deep drink.

Ashton shuffled in a moment later with a tea
tray which he set down with a nervous rattle of his age-spotted
hands. Andrew added whiskey to both cups and they drank until both
cups were empty. Then they each poured another and added more
whiskey, and only when these cups were finished did Andrew
speak.

“Dreadful tragedy, Ashton. I take it an
intruder managed to break into the house and murder my mother.”

“Indeed, sir. I am sure if we look closely
enough we shall find a window has been broken.”

“And of course, my poor grandmother, brought
by the screams of my mother, found her dead already and had an
attack upon the sight of her dear daughter-in-law lying there with
her face quite bludgeoned in,” Andrew went on with gruesome
steadiness.

“And I daresay it was the coal shovel the
intruder used.”

“Yes. Yes. The coal shovel. And of course the
only reason the cane is bloody is that it fell into the midst of
things when my grandmother died.”

“Indeed. And we shall have to have a look
around to see what this murderer stole, for undoubtedly it was a
robbery gone awry,” Ashton added in gloomy intone

“Without doubt. My poor mother must have
wakened to find him there in her room. Bold bugger. I am most
certain he must have stolen her rings from her very fingers. Most
particularly her wedding bands,” Andrew ended on a bitter note.

“Yes. I am certain that I saw those missing
already,” Ashton agreed. “Sad, sad business this, Earl
Larrimer.”

“Yes. Well, tragedy happens to even the most
deserving of persons, don't you agree. But, by God, Ashton, I do
not know if I can bear it. I knew already, you know,” Andrew broke.
“For St. James gave me the proof, although it took me the most of
the journey from Chestershire to here to understand the full import
of it, and bade me to get her from the country, of which is why I
am here. It all could have been taken care of so neatly, and
although I daresay I would have hated her, I would not have hated
her enough to see her dead, for she was my mother. And grandmother,
too. Oh, God, not grandmother.”

Ashton met those hellish blue eyes for an
instance before saying, “Family is like one body, milord, and when
the left hand slashes the right, the whole of it will bleed
together.”

Andrew forwent the tea, poured straight
whiskey into his cup. “I need to ask you one thing, Ashton, that I
am not certain I heard correctly.”

“As you wish, milord.”

“Am I correct in gathering that St. James is
not my cousin but my half brother?”

Ashton hesitated for only a brief second
before saying, “Indeed, sir, it is how I understood it. You heard a
deal of the conversation that preceded—what it preceded?”

“Yes. I am not proud to say that I arrived
home and was determined to gain a few answers from my mother as
well, never dreaming that grandmother had any clue. I heard voices
when I arrived at her bedchamber door, and I admit that I hesitated
intentionally for grandmother had managed to tap her quite
completely it would seem.” And he gave a shudder. “God forgive me,
I did not try to open the door until I was given to understand that
grandmother had hit her with that bloody cane and only then
discovered that grandmother had her chair against the door. I take
it that you were not even aware of my trying to gain entrance in
the midst of—of all of that.”

“Forgive me, milord, but it quite escaped my
notice.”

“Well, we shall try to forget all that we
have seen this night, shall we? As soon as we have broken a window,
which shall not be easy as the glass must come into the room and
not go out, and we must dispose of a bit of jewelry while we are at
it.” He put his swollen and bruised face into his hands for a
brief, weary second. “I swear I have done nothing but attend to
dead bodies since I dared to become involved in my brother's
business. If he has done this for twenty-three years, I do not know
how he has survived.”

“But it is all at an end now, milord,” Ashton
reminded him, and he too tipped straight whiskey into his cup as he
spoke. “If, indeed, you can let it rest as finished and will not
blame him for this tragedy.”

“Blame him! No, I can not blame him. I resent
that he could not let it lie, but I wager I would have done the
same. And in the end, he gave me to understand that he would allow
me to get her out safely before he could kill her. I just came too
late, damn it. I just came too late. For both of them. And if this
is killing me, I dare say it will kill him as well. If he is not
already dead. Jesus.” With those words he at last wept and Ashton
let himself out, having a clear idea of what needed done and
leaving Andrew alone with his grieving.

But Andrew did not remain that way long, for
he knew he had not the luxury. It would not be as simple as he and
Ashton had discussed. His mother had been packing and everything
must be unpacked and restowed before dawn so that no one would
think anything but that she had been sleeping as on any other
night. The fact that the murder had been so silent, just a single
squeak from her before she died, he could only thank God. And also
for the fact that every employee in the place was closer to death
than to life when they slept.

And with that thought he realized that most
every one of them would now take tenure, and as he had every
intention of living in his father's (and oh, God, he could not even
call him his father any longer!) house, he saw no reason why this
house should not be closed after the funerals and remain closed
until St. James decided what was to be done with it.

And the fact that the man that lay struggling
for his life in Chestershire, may even now be dead because of him,
was his brother? To that, Andrew only poured another drink and
downed it with desperation. Then he rose and went above stairs to
help Ashton with their morbid mission.

Andrew may have thought it was luck or mere
chance that he found Effington awake and below stairs when he went
to St. James' establishment just before dawn a few hours later, but
it was neither, for Effington, as had become his habit, was
prowling around on the half expectation that his employer would
arrive and be in need of his services.

So when Earl Larrimer rode up, Effington
heard his mount's hooves and peeked through the front window just
in time to see that man going around the corner to the mew and the
stables in the back.

Effington pulled his robe tighter about his
sleeping gown and hurried to the back of the house and out the
servant's entrance in his slippers. And he was glad that he did,
for it was obvious that Earl Larrimer was not only very tired, and
somewhat battered, but also half-drunk. And when he dismounted, it
appeared that he had some debilitating injury to his leg.

Effington hurried forward, the cold morning
air biting his thin cheeks and the point of his night cap jouncing,
and propped a shoulder beneath the earl's arm just as that man
reeled as his less than stable leg took the shock of his
weight.

“Here, milord!” Effington said. “I will see
to your horse if you will only allow me to get you into the house.
And do not curse so loudly, unless you wish for the house to
awake.”

Andrew's blue eyes focused on him.
“Effington, by God! Well, Lord knows I can use your help.” He
allowed Effington to help him into the house and on into St. James'
study where there was a sofa and Effington settled him upon it.