In the Brief Eternal Silence (84 page)

“How does he do that?” Ryan exclaimed upon
inspecting the duke, who although looking worse the wear was
remarkably alert and recovered for someone who had been near
senseless just that morning.

“Damn you, St. James!” Bertie said with
irritation. “You never fail to make me feel like a fool for
spending my precious time worrying about your sorry life.”

St. James, amused at these sayings, only
said, “As I believe my betrothed is still sleeping and I do not
wish to disturb her, perhaps you would be so kind as to close the
door.”

“Of course,” Bertie said, and did so.
“Needn't tell you, St. James, that you have put that chit through
more than her share of grief this past ten days.”

St. James frowned, the stitched cut on his
cheek pulling down to make him look more ferocious in his
displeasure than even what he normally appeared. “No, you needn't
tell me that in the least, Bertie, for I am well aware of it. Which
brings us to the little request that I have for you two gentlemen
for this evening.”

“Of course, St. James,” Ryan said from where
he stood at the foot of the bed as his brother seated himself in
the chair. “You should know by now that we shall be of whatever
assistance to you that we possibly can!”

“Well it is not so very big a thing,” St.
James chided. “It is just that I have come to understand that the
servants have left to go to the funeral of my grandmother and I
dare say that Miss Murdock has taken it upon herself to do at least
some of the preparing of meals in their absence.”

And both Bertie and Ryan looked guilty.
“Well, St. James,” Bertie began, “we did endeavor to fix our own,
you know, but damned if I could get that bloody stove to work as it
should. A monstrous piece of equipment, that!”

“And I certainly tried to put together a few
edible dishes, but I am afraid that it is not as easily done as I
had always assumed,” Ryan added.

But St. James raised a scraped hand to cut
them both short. “I am not blaming you. I can well guess that Miss
Murdock saw to it with some relief, preferring it very much to
having Mrs. Herriot here fagging her to death. I am merely saying
that since I am no longer on my death bed and she has at last been
able to find some rest for herself that we do not interrupt it this
evening but that perhaps you would care to take the Squire and
travel to the inn for your meal.”

“Why, yes, of course. Should be happy to,”
Bertie agreed, but his eyes twinkled and he controlled a grin as
St. James gave him a look of warning.

Ryan, oblivious to any deeper intent, said,
“Jolly good, St. James. Can not think why we did not hit upon it
ourselves. We shall enjoy a nicely prepared meal and Miss Murdock
shall get her well deserved rest.” He gave St. James an earnest
look. “You are surprisingly considerate, St. James.”

St. James chuckled but did not disabuse him
of his summation. “And I can not see why you need hurry back. I
dare say it has been a most trying time for the two of you and the
Squire also. By all means, enjoy a hand or two of cards. Bertie,”
he continued, “I am sure the Squire would welcome a few drinks and
a release from his worries for a night.”

“Indeed, St. James,” Bertie said. “I am quite
certain that we all should. I don't imagine we would be back much
before dawn, if even then. May be better to just stay the night and
allow Miss Murdock time to adequately recover.”

“You understand me completely, Bertie.”

An hour later, Effington returned to St.
James' bedchamber. “Is there anything further I can get for you,
milord, before my leaving?” he asked.

“No, Effington, thank you.” St. James sat
propped against his pillows. His robe was opened showing the white
of his bandages, and his hands fingered the cane in his hands.
“Just see to the arrangements I have asked you to see to and I
should see you in the morning, I expect.”

“Of course you realize that if I should run
into no difficulty I could well return late tonight?” Effington
warned.

St. James glanced up, his eyes dark and
preoccupied. He focused on his valet long enough to say, “But that
would be very unwise, would it not, Effington?”

And Effington conceded to say, “I dare say it
may be, milord.” But it was clear that he was less than happy with
his employer once again as he dared to sniff with disapproval upon
the end of his words.

“Just see to what I have asked you to see to,
Effington, and there should be no need for your scandalized
expression.”

“Yes, milord,” Effington returned. “I only
hope that you know what you are about.”

“It is the only thing of which I am certain
that I know what I am about.”

Effington left the bedchamber and a short
time later St. James heard his cousin's coach driven along the lane
as St. James had instructed Effington to use it upon his mission,
that man not being inclined to riding a mount.

Within an hour he heard Ryan, Bertie and the
Squire setting off for the inn. The house was silent about him and
the night darkened upon the windows with the setting of the
sun.

Everything was neatly in place. Now if he
could only manage to get from this damned bed.

Miss Murdock lay in nothing but her chemise
upon the coverlet of the bed. Night had fallen and the fire in her
chamber had burned low as there were no servants in residence to
build it back up, and she shivered with the chill.

She had intended on lying down for only a
moment, and had removed her dress to avoid wrinkling it. But now,
she saw, she had slept very long and she sat up in a panic. How
could she abandon St. James in his hour of need? Then she recalled
that as of that morning he had been awake and coherent for the
first time since the accident and she sighed with relief.

A noise came from the hall, a thumping and a
curse. The voice was nearly unrecognizable to her for surely it
could not be St. James, bed-bound across the hall. She curled her
legs beneath her and sat straighter on the bed, her hair mussed and
down her back. She tried matching the voice to the other members of
the house. The very proper Effington would not bang about in such a
manner or use a word as foul as this one had been. And the voice
was strained and did not fit Ryan nor Bertie, nor her father
either.

But surely it could not be St. James? He
could not be making that much noise from his bedchamber and she
should not be hearing his curse as clearly as that.

The noise repeated itself but this time there
was no curse or any sound of human voice at all and she became
afraid. The house was too silent other than this disturbing
activity in the hallway. It had the silence of abandonment and she
was filled with an unreasonable dread that she was alone with
whatever was out in the hallway.

A heavy weight thumped against the door, and
this time, beyond reason, she was certain that it was St. James.
But that thought reassured her not at all for she could only
imagine what terrible circumstance made him determined to be out of
bed and had given him the strength of will to accomplish it.

The door flung open, its abruptness adding to
her fright. The form standing in the dim light frightened her
completely. It was St. James, but his eyes were ferocious, his face
drawn into a half grimace and the stitches upon his cheek stood out
in harsh contrast to his pale face.

He was gasping, leaning hard against the
door, a cane in one hand and his other hand upon the door knob. His
robe was undone and half hung from one shoulder. He seemed but a
mass of bandages and stitches and dark colored bruises. His dark
hair was disheveled, his brows knotted tight in pain and effort and
his eyes pried with determination deep into the dimness of the
room.

His gaze lighted upon her and in a single
flash of incoherent thought Lizzie had a vision of someone who has
clawed their way from a grave standing before her.

But then he said in a tight, strained,
panting, but still somewhat teasing voice, “You are looking very
well tonight, Miss Murdock.”

As she remembered that she wore nothing but
her chemise, she blushed quite furiously. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,
St. James, whatever are you doing out of bed? Can you never leave
be tormenting me for even a moment?”

But he only lay his head against the door
frame, catching his breath, and she realized that the ferocity of
his expression was a symptom of his whole-willed effort to obtain
that brief port on his journey.

Lizzie scooted from the bed, snagged her robe
and slid into it with a good deal of anxiety and turned to go to
him. He halted her with his words before she could reach him. “No,
Lizzie. Stay where you are for but another moment.”

She stopped, perplexed. He gathered himself
with an effort, controlled his breathing so that his voice was
steadier and continued. “I have no intention of returning to my
room if that is where you think you were going to hurriedly aid me
back to.”

His eyes in the pain-harshened features of
his face met hers and she trembled, understanding his intent. And
she stood, uncertain, in the center of the room.

He nodded as though by reading only her
expression he knew that she had digested all that he had not
spoken. “I can see that I am quite terrifying you already,” he
chided.

“I am not terrified,” she said. “I am
only—only—Oh, damn you, St. James! I do not know what I am. I only
know that you are in no condition. And neither am I, I dare
say.”

His lips quirked as with his resting there
against the door frame he was able to leave go his dreadful
concentration for a moment. “I admit it is not quite how I had
foreseen it, but I dare say we shall manage adequately.”

Lizzie's face flamed at even the brief
picture this brought to mind. “Hush!” she said. “I swear you must
be delirious to even consider it.” But she bowed her head for she
could not meet the amused tenderness in his eyes without it
blinding her beyond reason.

“I really do not think it can wait, Lizzie,”
he continued and his voice was very gentle. “And although I know
that must shock you to a great degree, I must point out that I am
very much afraid that as early as tomorrow or the next day at the
latest this now peaceful house is going to be swarmed once again.
And although it would irk me considerably to wait until we were
married, I would wait if it were only that. But I am also afraid
that my attention is going to be taken considerably up with dealing
with my cousin when he arrives. And I've no doubt that you shall be
doing as much as possible to prop him up also until he gets through
this.

“And I am equally certain that if we delay
until this circumstance is behind us that there will be yet another
circumstance that will necessitate another delay and so on and so
forth. For I am beginning to believe, Lizzie dear, that life is no
easier to deal with than death.

“And if you are afraid that God will be
frowning quite displeased from His throne, I can only point out
that Effington is about making the arrangements and getting the
proper paperwork so that our waiting period may begin even as we
speak and so that we shall marry as soon as possible at any rate.
Sooner, I believe, than I would manage a journey to Gretna Green in
my condition, otherwise, we would be on our way there even now. And
of course,” he added, self-mocking, “I am certain that God is fully
aware that he is not working with a saint here at any rate.”

“St. James!”

But he only grinned a little. “Hush, Lizzie,
and let me finish, shall you, dear, and then, I promise you, I
shall allow you to have the last word.”

It occurred to her that for the moment,
propriety ruled, and he would not cross her door frame unless she
allowed it. That realization made her tremble all the more.

“That is not to say that I do not fully know
of what I ask of you.” His voice changed from caressing indulgence
to intense imparting, and she nearly flinched, but her brown eyes
were no longer dropped from him but were held steady by his as he
spoke. “For I well understand that even the best of intentions is
not a guarantee that something will not happen that will prevent me
from wedding you in as speedy a manner as I can arrange. After a
week in my company, I am sure that you are equally aware of that
possibility.

“The consequences could in fact be damning
for you,” he warned. “And although you have said you have no care
that I have tried ruining you, I think you will find that the
appearance of being ruined and the actuality of it are far
different.”

And she did flinch at that, but took a step
toward him.

“No, Lizzie. Let me finish!” he told her, his
voice rough. “For once you allow me through this door, I will no
longer be taking into consideration any of these things. I have
cleared the house of everyone. There is no one here but ourselves.
For you must know I would not come to you if there were any chance
of our being interrupted or your being embarrassed or shamed. But
there will be suspicions, Lizzie, for they are bright and I am
certain that there will be little signs on the morrow that we will
be helpless to stop that will show that neither of us spent the
night gently sleeping. You must be prepared for that also. Although
we are to be shortly married, I am sure it will be remembered. Your
father, particularly—”

But she swept forward and although she only
stopped and stood in front of him, looking at him, her presence
there was enough for him to cut short his words with a little groan
and a click of his teeth.

He stared down at her and she stared up.
Still he did not reach for her although his eyes blazed with a fire
that seemed to scald her. She swallowed in effort to make her voice
steady and then she only said, “Yes.”

With that single word he placed his hand upon
her shoulder and leaning upon his cane in his other hand, he moved
into the room. He turned slightly, and his weight was heavy upon
her shoulder for that second, and he caught the door with the tip
of his cane and swung it closed behind him with he and Lizzie upon
one side of it, and the rest of the world upon the other.