In the Brief Eternal Silence by Rebecca Melvin Page B

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