《Storm and Silence》


 Page 1

    Arrested for Good Manners


    The young man¡¯s reflection glared back at me out of the shop window, suspicion etched into his roundish face. He probably thought I was doubting whether he looked manly enough, and, to be honest, I was.


    ¡®Come on,¡¯ I muttered, morosely. ¡®Manliness, manliness¡­ give me some manliness!¡¯


    I turned sideways, and he turned with me, thrusting his chest out at the exact same moment I did. It looked flat as a board, betraying not a hint of femininity, so that, at least, was going to be no problem.


    Farther down though¡­ My eyes wandered to the young man¡¯s behind, where my Uncle Bufford¡¯s old trousers bulged in a distinctly un-manly way. Yes. The young man¡¯s behind was definitely a bit too fa-


    No.


    Not the f-word. Generous. That was the word. It was just a bit too generous.


    ¡®Hell¡¯s whiskers!¡¯


    I made an impolite gesture at the young man in the window, which he duly reciprocated. Who was he trying to fool? He was no man. He was a girl. Which meant that, as much as I would have liked to pretend otherwise, so was I.


    ¡®I don''t like you,¡¯ I informed my reflection in no uncertain terms. It scowled at me, not at all pleased about being spoken to so disrespectfully.


    ¡®It¡¯s your own fault.¡¯ I scowled right back. ¡®If you were skinnier, and didn¡¯t have so much of this-¡¯ I pointed to my derri¨¨re, ¡®then you¡¯d look a bit more convincing in this getup.¡¯


    Distastefully, I tugged at the tailcoat and trousers, which felt odd over the tight corset.


    ¡®If we get caught, it¡¯s your fault for looking so¡­ so chubby! We¡¯re trying to look manly here. Couldn¡¯t you at least get hold of a false beard or a prominent, masculine jaw?¡¯


    A pedestrian walking by gave me an odd look.


    I decided that if I wanted to appear more masculine, it was probably time to stop talking to my reflection in a shop window and be about my business.


    Throwing a last, discontented look at the well upholstered, tanned young man in the shop window, I hurriedly stuffed my hair under the huge, heavy top hat that was part of my disguise from my uncle¡¯s wardrobe. My hair wasn¡¯t too long to be a man''s, really, it only reached down to my shoulders. But not many young men had shoulder-length brown locks. Silently thanking my uncle for unknowingly providing such a monster of a hat, I turned to face my destination.


    It was still some way away and concealed by the thick layer of mist that obscured most of London¡¯s streets at this time of day, but I knew exactly where I was going. I had spied out the place days ago, in preparation for my secret mission.


    Secret, solitary, and illegal.


    I started down the street again and felt my throat go dry. The stop in front of the shop window had been a temporary one, a last chance to confirm that I looked the part I was trying to play. It had granted me a short reprieve, but now the time had come.


    Blast! What if they recognize me? If they realize I¡¯m a girl? Panicked thoughts shot through my head like bees in a beehive rattled by a hungry bear. What if they grab me and¡­ God only knows what they might do!


    Calm down, Lilly, I told myself. You are on a mission for all womankind. If you should fall, hundreds will follow in your footsteps.


    Which didn¡¯t exactly make me feel better, since that meant they would trample over my remains.


    Suddenly, the mist before me parted, and there it was: the place I had come to infiltrate. The place I was forbidden, by law, to enter. White columns supported a wide, classical portico that overshadowed the steps leading up to the entrance. The door had two massive wings of oak, and a guard beside it. Over the door hung a dark red banner, proclaiming, in black letters the words ¡®POLLING STATION¡¯.


    And I suppose that says it all. That explains why I was here, why I was wearing ridiculously baggy men¡¯s clothes which I had pinched from my uncle and why I was so mad at my own reflection. That explains why I was afraid. That explains what was illegal about my plans. That explains everything.


    No? It doesn''t? Not to you, anyway?


    Count yourself fortunate, then. You apparently live in a country which actually allows its female inhabitants the right to vote.


    Not so the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, I thought, gritting my teeth in anger. Its politicians had thoroughly deliberated on the subject of women¡¯s suffrage and come to the conclusion that women should never be allowed to vote, for the following reasons:


    1. Women¡¯s tiny brains had no capacity for logical thought. Their emotional nature made them incapable of understanding politics.


    2. If women were to get involved in politics, they would be too busy to marry and have children, and the entire human race would die out, which would be very bad indeed.


    3. If women got involved in politics, they would be on an equal footing with men, thus creating the appalling condition of equality of the sexes and putting an end to all need for male chivalry and gentlemanly behaviour, which would be even worse.


    4. All government ultimately rested on brute force. Since the gentle nature of women made them incapable of that, they were simply not suited for politics.[1]


    Would it surprise you to hear that all the politicians who put forward the reasons on that little list were men? I had taken the time to think very long and sincerely about their arguments, finally coming to the conclusion that said arguments were complete and utter poop. I really wished I could have a private meeting with the fellow who suggested that women were incapable of brute force. Just five minutes alone with him in a sound-proof room would do.


    Not looking right or left, I marched down the street towards the polling station, trying to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest. Every minute, I expected someone to raise an accusing finger and start shouting, ¡®A female! A female in men¡¯s clothes! Grab the vile abomination!¡¯


    Nothing happened. Nobody even gave me a second glance.


    That might, however, have had something to do with the thick fog that let one see clearly for only a few yards. Everything beyond that was just a hazy outline. As I walked on, the fog thickened even more, and for a moment, even the polling station at the other end of the street was consumed by it.


    Yet even without the fog, there didn¡¯t seem to be a great chance of my being recognized by passers-by. Only a few people were out on the streets, and they rushed past quickly. I hoped it would be the same inside the station. The only exception to the rule here, outside, was a large group standing half-way down the street. Although they were visible to me only as hazy silhouettes, I could tell that two of the men were in intense conversation.

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    ¡®¡­ tell you, it is in perfect condition,¡¯ the older of the two said. His double chin wobbled as he spoke and he made energetic gestures with his pudgy hands to underline his speech. ¡®The best of all the houses I have.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed?¡¯ The other man sounded curt and cool. I didn¡¯t see his face since he stood with his back to me. All I could see was his lean black figure, erect as a rod of iron. ¡®Interesting that you are willing to part with such a treasure.¡¯


    ¡®It is out of the goodness of my heart, Sir, out of the goodness of my heart!¡¯ the fat man assured him. ¡®Wilding Park is a treasure, and I hate to part with it, but I know that with you it will be in good hands.¡¯


    I hadn¡¯t really paid attention to their conversation before, but the name caught my ear. Wilding Park? Surely not the Wilding Park?


    ¡®Bah.¡¯ The young man waved his hand depreciatively. ¡®I have no time for this. Karim, pay the man and let¡¯s be done with it.¡¯ He raised a hand, pointing at the fat man. ¡®However, you should remember: If you haven¡¯t told the truth, I shall be very¡­ displeased.¡¯


    Even through the fog I could see the double-chin of the fat fellow tremble.


    ¡®Karim? The money.¡¯ The young man snapped his fingers.


    A gigantic fellow, one of the people surrounding the two, started forward but stopped and turned his head abruptly when I took a few steps in the direction of the group and cleared my throat.


    Stupid, stupid, stupid! What was I doing? What was it to me if some rich chauvinist fellow got swindled and lost a few thousand quid? Nothing. But then, this might be a brilliant opportunity to test my disguise.


    It was also a brilliant opportunity to procrastinate and put off my attack on the fortress of male political power for just a few moments more.


    ¡®Excuse me, Sir?¡¯ I wanted to tap the lean man on the shoulder, but the giant called Karim grabbed my arm before it even got near him and pulled me back, towering over me.


    ¡®On your way, you lout!¡¯ he growled in some thick, uneven accent I couldn¡¯t identify. I looked up at him, eyes wide. Now that he was so close, with no mist obscuring his form, I could see he was a mountain of a man, with a face as dark as his long black beard, and a turban, yes, an actual turban on his head. What freak show had I wandered into? A turban? In the middle of London?


    ¡®On your way, I said!¡¯ he growled, twisting my arm painfully. ¡®The Sahib has no time for beggars!¡¯


    Beggars? I was more than a little peeved, I had to say. I was dressed in my uncle¡¯s Sunday best, after all. And all right, the clothes were three sizes too big for me and hadn¡¯t been used or washed in years, but still.


    At least he hadn¡¯t said ¡®The Sahib has no time for girls who dress up as men.¡¯


    ¡®I don''t want any money from him,¡¯ I retorted. ¡®In fact, I want to help him save some!¡¯


    ¡®Save Money? Karim - let him go, now!¡¯ the young man commanded, turning to look at me.


    The big fellow did what he said so quickly that it was obvious he was a very obedient servant. His master was staring at me intently, but because of the fog I still couldn¡¯t see much of him - except his eyes.


    ¡®You,¡¯ the man said, fixing me with his dark gaze, dark as the sea, somewhere between blue, green and grey. ¡®What do you speak of? How exactly can you help me save money?¡¯


    I swallowed, wishing I hadn¡¯t said or done anything at all. I could be safe in the polling station by now. Instead I was stuck here, because once again I couldn¡¯t keep my nose out of things that didn¡¯t concern me.


    When I tried to step towards the man, thinking I should bow or shake his hand, the big dark-skinned servant blocked my way and put his hand to his belt. For the first time, I noticed the giant sabre that hung there. Obviously he didn¡¯t think much of handshakes, bows and formal introductions. So I simply spoke from where I stood.


    ¡®I couldn¡¯t help overhearing part of your conversation with¡­¡¯ my gaze strayed to the fat man.


    ¡®Mr Elseworth,¡¯ the man with the sea-coloured eyes supplied, curtly.


    ¡®¡­with Mr Elseworth. Am I right in thinking that you intend to purchase Wilding Park, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®You are.¡¯


    ¡®If you don¡¯t mind my saying so, Sir, I would advise against it.¡¯


    ¡®Why?¡¯


    ¡®My¡­ my grandmother lives in the vicinity of Wilding Park, Sir. I visit her now and again and have caught glimpses of the house. It is not pretty.¡¯


    ¡®I am not concerned with whether it is pretty or not. Is it sound?¡¯


    ¡®That it is, Sir, that it is,¡¯ the fat man cut in, throwing me an evil glare. ¡®Don¡¯t listen to this foolish youth!¡¯


    ¡®It is not sound,¡¯ I snapped.


    ¡®And you know that how?¡¯ the man with the dark eyes asked.


    ¡®Half the roof tiles are missing, and I have seen unhealthy-looking stains on the walls. Once, in passing, I heard the steward complain about the wilderness in the grounds and an infestation of rats. The road up to the house, from what I could see from my coach as I drove by, also looked in bad disrepair.¡¯


    ¡®And you remember all that just from passing?¡¯


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ I responded nervously.


    He gave a curt nod. ¡®I see. Exactly what I have been looking for.¡¯


    That statement slightly confused me. ¡®But I just told you the house is dilapidated and¡­¡¯


    The shadowy stranger cut me short with an impatient gesture. ¡®Not the house, young man. You.¡¯


    I blinked, totally taken off guard. ¡®Me?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, you.¡¯ Carelessly, the lean figure in the fog waved a hand towards the fat man. ¡®Karim, get rid of that individual. Our business relationship is terminated. I have no further use for him.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sahib.¡¯


    Seizing the stunned Mr Elseworth by the scruff of the neck, this fellow Karim hauled him off into the mist without so much as a second to consider. The protesting shrieks of the man could be heard for about two or three seconds, then abruptly ceased.


    ¡®Now to you,¡¯ said the dark-eyed man as if nothing particularly strange had happened. ¡®I know a good man when I see one, and I need a bright young man with a good memory and quick mind as my secretary. The last one I had has just left my employment for some unfathomable reason. I think you would be exactly the man for the job.¡¯


    I managed to turn my involuntary laugh into a cough. ¡®Err¡­ the man for the job? Sorry, but I don''t quite think that I¡¯m the one you want, Sir.¡¯

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    ¡®Can you read and write?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, but¡­¡¯


    ¡®Do you have employment?¡¯


    Again, I had to work hard to stifle a giggle.


    ¡®No, Sir, but¡­¡¯


    ¡®Well then it¡¯s settled. Be at my office, nine sharp Monday morning.¡¯


    He walked forward and held something out to me.


    ¡®Here.¡¯


    As he approached, the tendrils of fog uncurled around him, and for the first time I could see him clearly. My mouth experienced a sudden, inexplicable lack of saliva.


    For a man he looked¡­ quite acceptable.


    Hard. That was what he looked like. That was what you first noticed about him: a hard, chiselled face, like that of some ancient Greek statue. Except of course that all the stone statues I had met at the museum looked a lot more likely to suddenly smile than he did. They, after all, were made of marble, which was really a quite soft kind of stone, maybe capable of a changeable facial expression. He, on the other hand, wasn¡¯t soft. He looked as though he were hewn from granite. Like most of his fellow statues in the museum, he wore no beard. Against the current fashion, his face was meticulously clean-shaven, making it appear even more angular and stark. And then, finally, there were his eyes¡­ His dark blue-green eyes that I had already seen through the mist. They were dark pools of immeasurable depth, pools you could drown yourself in and never again come up for air.


    All right, all things considered he probably looked slightly better than just ¡®acceptable¡¯.


    I instantly and absolutely mistrusted him. I disliked all men as a matter of principle, but handsome men, especially ones with a strong chin and overbearing manner, were at the top of my ¡®things to exterminate to make this world a better place¡¯-list. This particular specimen of manhood in front of me looked like just the kind of fellow who might have come up with the brute force argument.


    ¡®Hello, young man? Are you listening to me?¡¯


    I shook my head, trying to chase away my wandering thoughts and concentrate. I was in disguise! This was a test, and I had to act accordingly.


    ¡®Err¡­ yes. Yes, I am,¡¯ I stuttered. ¡®You just surprised me, Sir. I must admit,¡¯ I added truthfully, ¡®that it¡¯s not every day I get an offer like that.¡¯


    ¡®See that you¡¯re not ¡°surprised¡± too often when you are in my employ,¡¯ he said without moving a muscle of his angular, stony face. ¡®I have no use for baffled fools standing around gawking for no good reason.¡¯


    Fools, was it? His capacity for politeness seemed about equal to his ability to force a smile on that statue¡¯s face of his. I had a sudden, mad urge to ask him what he thought about point number four. Maybe it really had been him¡­


    Again, he stepped closer and jerked his hand forward.


    ¡®My card,¡¯ he said, his voice curt and commanding. Only then did I notice what he was holding out to me: a small rectangular piece of cardboard. I took it and examined it. In clear, precise lettering without any embellishments were printed the words:


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Empire House


    322 Leadenhall Street


    Nothing else. No titles, no embellishments, no profession.


    I looked up at him again. Ambrose, hm? Like the stuff the Greek gods used to eat for breakfast? Well, he certainly looked good enough to eat, I thought as my eyes swept up and down his lean form appreciatively.


    No! What was I thinking? I didn¡¯t want or need men. I didn¡¯t need anyone who thought my brain was too small to understand politics, thank you very much! I was a proud suffragette[2] and should be thinking about promoting women¡¯s rights, not the contents of men¡¯s tights! Did men even wear tights under their trousers? I would have to ask my twin sisters about that. They would probably know from personal experience.


    ¡®Don¡¯t be late,¡¯ he added, his dark eyes flaring. ¡®I don''t tolerate tardiness.¡¯ Then, without a further word, he turned and vanished into the fog, his long black cloak flapping behind him. The others who surrounded him silently followed, as if he were the centre of their little solar system and they all revolved around him. I stared after him, flabbergasted.


    The nerve of the man! He didn¡¯t even wait to hear me say yes or no? He just left, expecting I would do his bidding. Who was he? Some industrialist with too much money for his own good? No, that didn¡¯t fit the cut and colouring of his clothes, which was very simple: sleek black from head to toe. So was he just a simple tradesman? But then again¡­ He had all those attendants with him. That suggested someone important.


    Maybe he was a government official. I snorted, staring intently at the card. Yes, that would fit! One of those fellows who were to blame for me being out here in this strange getup in the first place. I should just chuck his card away and be done with it. It wasn¡¯t as if I intended to go there on Monday.


    I hesitated for a moment.


    Then I pocketed the card and turned to the polling station again.


    Why was I feeling so annoyed? I should be happy. This had been an excellent test. I had been in the company of one of the most masculine men I had ever met, and he hadn¡¯t noticed I was in fact a girl. Great job!


    Yet, deep down, I knew exactly why I was peeved. It was because I had been in the company of the most masculine man I had ever met and he had completely, I mean absolutely and completely, not noticed that I was in fact a girl!


    Be sensible, I chided myself. A moment ago you were worried about looking too feminine. Now you¡¯ve been proven wrong. Problem solved.


    Yes.


    There was definitely no reason for me to feel annoyed. No reason at all.


    Banishing all thoughts of the strange Mr Rikkard Ambrose from my mind, I again started towards the building at the end of the street. The fog lifted slightly and revealed the menacing figure of a police officer posted outside the door. Sweat broke out on my forehead despite the cold, and for a moment I was convinced he was stationed there for the express purpose of catching young ladies daring to try and vote against the supreme will of the British Government.


    Then I remembered he was probably not there for the women, but for the millions of men who still weren¡¯t allowed to vote either, because they didn¡¯t have a penny in their pocket. Women were probably not even important enough to be taken into consideration. Well, I would show them!


    As I walked up the steps to the front door, the bobby took off his hat respectfully. ¡®Good day, Sir.¡¯


    Oh God! He¡¯d lifted his hat in greeting. Why hadn¡¯t I thought of this? What should I do? Take off my hat in return? I couldn¡¯t do that, considering the mass of hair that was piled up underneath it like a haystack crammed into a shopping bag. So I just nodded silently. Better to be thought rude than to be polite and subsequently arrested.

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    Quickly I pushed past the bobby and threw open the door to the polling station. A thick stench of cigars and sweat wafted towards me out of the darkness.


    My hands clenched into tight fists, and I stood there, immobile. Could I do this? Was I brave enough? Would I get caught? Would I get lynched by an outraged male mob?


    Before I could think better of it, I plunged forward, into the darkness, towards my goal.


    For a moment, I stood still while my eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom. Slowly, shapes appeared out of the dark, and I could distinguish a sort of counter at the other end of the room, where an official sat with several lists and thick books. Men formed a line in front of the counter. They scribbled something in the books with a fountain pen, then bowed to the official and departed.


    Was I supposed to write in there, too? I had no idea how this ¡®voting¡¯-thing actually worked. Oh heavens, I should never have tried this¡­


    Come on, I chastised myself. Do it! Do it for your friends, Patsy, Flora and all the rest! Do it for the oppressed masses of women who are too lazy to protest themselves! Do it against all those arrogant male chauvinists who think the brains of a woman wouldn¡¯t fill a tea spoon!


    Unfortunately, this last thought brought a certain image to my mind: the image of Mr Rikkard Ambrose as he disdainfully handed his card to his new ¡®secretary¡¯.


    Was I really so ugly that a man like him would not even recognize me as a girl? I refused to believe so! Admittedly, my skin was rather tanned, and my face was rather round with a perky chin, not at all demure and ladylike. But still, not even to recognize me as a girl¡­?


    Forget about him. He¡¯s not important. You have a job to do! I repeated over and over in my mind. Still, the image of Rikkard Ambrose persisted in front of my inner eye as I approached the line of men at the counter.


    Just before I could get into line, a thin little man in a bright yellow waistcoat stopped me. Or maybe he was a woman in disguise, too? How should I know, after all?


    ¡®Excuse me, Sir,¡¯ he said in a voice high enough to make the theory at least possible. ¡®You will have to show me your passport.¡¯


    Ah! I breathed a sigh of relief. At least this was one eventuality I had provided for. At a dinner party, I had heard the gentlemen once talking about the government introducing this measure: you had to show your passport when you voted, to prove who you were.


    So how could I try and vote, you may ask yourself?


    Well, I had pinched my uncle¡¯s passport.


    Why not? I had already taken his trousers, jacket, waistcoat and top hat. And it wasn¡¯t like he was going to vote. He never left his room except to work or complain about things.


    ¡®Um¡­ of course. Here.


    With fluttering fingers I removed the rectangular piece of paper from my pocket and unfolded it. The little man took it and looked at it without really paying attention.


    ¡®In his Majesty¡¯s name¡­ Passport for the person of the name Bufford Jefferson Brank¡­ signed by¡­ and so on and so on¡­ yes, all appears to be in order.¡¯ He handed the document back to me, and I quickly tugged it back into my pocket. ¡®Please continue, Mr Brank,¡¯ he said, gesturing towards the line of waiting men and already looking somewhere else, having lost all interest in yours truly.


    That was fine by me.


    Hurriedly, I placed myself behind the last man in the line, thanking the Lord that the British government hadn¡¯t yet adopted the practice of putting pictures of people in passports. I might be able to pass for a man by putting on a pair of trousers and a top hat, but I doubted I would be able to pass for a grumpy sixty-year-old by availing myself of a false white beard and pretending to limp.


    ¡®Next, please,¡¯ the man at the counter called in a bored voice. The line moved forward, and I moved along with it, step by step, voter by voter. In that way, I slowly approached the counter, getting more nervous with every passing minute. How exactly did you ''cast a vote''? Did you actually have to throw something? I presumed it was only a figure of speech, but I wasn¡¯t entirely sure.


    The men before me didn¡¯t seem to be throwing things around, though. They just bent as if to write something down, and then went away. That didn¡¯t look so bad.


    Suddenly, the last man in front of me stepped aside and I was facing the official behind the counter. He held out a piece of paper, on which the names of two candidates were printed with little circles beside them.


    ¡®Cast your vote, please,¡¯ he said, his voice still dripping boredom.


    ¡®What?¡¯ I stared at the man, surprised. ¡®Do you mean anyone will be able to see who I voted for?¡¯


    He looked at me as if I had just asked whether the sea was really made out of water. ¡®Of course. If you¡¯re ashamed of your political affiliations, you shouldn¡¯t be here. Haven¡¯t you voted before?¡¯


    Trying desperately not to let my nerves show, I shook my head. ¡®No. First time.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, well, that explains it.¡¯ His expression changed from bored to superior, and he pointed to a place on the paper. ¡®We vote publicly here, young man. That¡¯s the way it¡¯s supposed to be. You¡¯ll get none of those absurd new political ideas the Chartists are proposing in my polling station. Did you know those fools don''t just want to have secret ballots, they actually demand universal suffrage?¡¯


    ¡®Incredible.¡¯


    ¡®Just what I said! This is a decent, British polling station, young man. Everybody who comes here to vote is a gentleman with a residence in town and a good income, and everybody sees who everybody else votes for.¡¯


    He paused, and I, as was obviously expected, nodded my agreement to his political wisdom. The official seemed pleased. He tapped on the paper in front of me.


    ¡®Just make your mark there, or there, young Sir, depending on which candidate you wish to vote for.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you, Sir.¡¯ I grabbed the fountain pen and immediately made my mark for the Whig candidate.


    ¡®The Whigs, hmm?¡¯


    The official¡¯s face soured, and he glanced at me disapprovingly. ¡®Didn¡¯t you hear what I was just saying? The Whigs actually support those Chartist extremists and rebels who want votes for the common people. Do you really know what you are doing, young man? Those infernal reformers will be the death of our great country, some day!¡¯


    ¡®Well, we''ll just have to see, won¡¯t we, Sir,¡¯ I said with a smile and curtsied.

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    The entire room went suddenly deadly quiet as everybody turned to stare at me. The voters, the officials, even a fellow in the corner who looked like he had just come in to warm himself up a bit - they all stared at me with open mouths.


    What was the matter with them?


    Then I realized. Oh, blast! I curtsied! I didn¡¯t bow, I curtsied!


    They needed to call a second police officer to ¡®restrain the madwoman in the polling station¡¯ as the government official put it to the messenger boy who was sent to the police. The boy was obviously impressed with my performance, because he returned not with one, but with three additional Bobbies, truncheons in hand.


    Now don''t get me wrong, I didn¡¯t try to strangle anybody. Far from it. I simply had decided that since I was discovered anyway, I might as well use the opportunity and set up an impromptu demonstration for women¡¯s rights in the polling station. The government officials in charge of the place didn¡¯t seem to take kindly to the idea.


    Thus it was that at 9:30 am on 22 August 1839 I was dragged out of an inconsequential polling station in the middle of London, with the firm assistance of four protectors of the people. Two of the officers held my arms, while another two marched ahead to warn any passers-by of the dangerous madwoman.


    ¡®Chauvinists!¡¯ I yelled. ¡®Oppressors of womanhood!¡¯


    One of the Bobbies winced, covering his ears.


    ¡®Can we gag her?¡¯ he asked his sergeant.


    ¡®No, lad, that¡¯s against regulations,¡¯ the older man grunted.


    ¡®What about a straitjacket?¡¯


    ¡®We ain¡¯t got one of those, more¡¯s the pity.¡¯


    Digging my heels into the ground, I continued to express my opinion of the oppressors of womanhood in no uncertain terms. To my considerable satisfaction they had a great deal of trouble moving me five inches, let alone down the steps from the doors of the polling station.


    We had just reached the last porch step when out of the bank on the opposite side of the misty street stepped a figure I remembered all too well: Rikkard Ambrose, his classical features as hard as ever, his black cloak wrapped tightly around him. When he caught sight of me being dragged away, he stopped in his tracks.


    ¡®Officer!¡¯ In three long strides he was in front of us. His face was just as unmoving as before, but there was a steely glint in his dark eyes. ¡®Officer, what are you doing with this young man, may I ask?¡¯


    The sergeant turned, and paled as he saw the visage of the much younger man. He took one hand off my arm to salute. My, my. Mr Rikkard Ambrose had to be someone of importance to elicit that kind of reaction from one of London¡¯s stoic defenders of the law.


    I tried to use the opportunity to wrestle free, but immediately the sergeant stopped saluting and clapped his hand around my arm again.


    ¡®Good morning, Mr Ambrose, Sir!¡¯ he said, trying to stand at attention while not loosening his grip on yours truly. ¡®Um¡­ Sir, if I may ask, what young man are you speaking of?¡¯


    With a sharp jerk of his hand, Mr Ambrose pointed at me.


    ¡®That one, of course. Are you blind? What are you doing with him?¡¯


    ¡®Not him, Sir.¡¯ Reaching up, the sergeant gripped my top hat and pulled it off, so my chestnut bob cut was freed and tumbled downwards. ¡®Her. That¡¯s a girl, Mr Ambrose, Sir.¡¯


    The expression on the face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose at that moment was quite possibly the funniest thing I had ever seen in my life. His stone face slackened and he gaped at me like he hadn¡¯t seen a single female before in his entire life.


    ¡®Something wrong, Sir?¡¯ the sergeant inquired, dutifully. When no answer was forthcoming from the stupefied Mr Ambrose, the sergeant shrugged, and made an awkward little bow. ¡®Well, if you¡¯d excuse us, Sir, we have to take this one,¡¯ he nodded at me like he would at a rabid horse, ¡®away to where she belongs. Maybe a night in the cells will teach her not to do what¡¯s only for men.¡¯


    ¡®Aye,¡¯ one of the constables chuckled. ¡®Women voting? Who ever heard of something like that? Next thing we know they¡¯ll want decent jobs!¡¯


    His colleagues laughed at his joke and started dragging me to a police coach standing not twenty yards away.


    In that moment, I made a decision.


    I turned my head around to look back. Mr Rikkard Ambrose still stood there, pale and unmoving as a block of ice. Even though he was already a dozen yards away, and the Bobbies dragged me further and further, I could see his stone face very clearly. I could see his dark eyes starting to burn with cold anger. A grin spreading across my face, I yelled:


    ¡®Looking forward to seeing you at work on Monday, Sir!¡¯


    Ape Bobby


    By the next morning I didn¡¯t feel quite so cocky anymore. That might have had something to do with spending the night in a prison cell, or with the fact that I had made a total mess of my plan, or with the fact that I hadn¡¯t been able to get myself calmed down enough to sleep until midnight.


    And when I finally did fall asleep on the hard, uneven bunk bed in the prison cell, I dreamed of a dozen Bobbies, reinforced by a whole platoon of Ancient Greek statues, chasing me through the dark streets of London all night, shouting: ¡®Stop her! Stop the feminist! She has to be at work on Monday! At nine sharp! Catch her!¡¯ I¡¯m not sure which was more disturbing, the horrifying chase or the fact that the stone statues on my tail looked suspiciously like Mr Rikkard Ambrose.


    I awoke sometime around three am, my heart hammering so fast I knew I would never be able to go to sleep again.


    Instead, I surveyed the luxurious hotel suite the nice policemen had put me in for the night: six square feet of the best of what London¡¯s police stations had to offer. The walls of my temporary home were decorated in an intricate pattern of mould and graffiti. The panorama window - about two square feet covered with a beautiful set of iron bars - offered a spectacular view over the gutter of one of London¡¯s finest dingy alleyways. The door, of course, was designed to fit the standards of the window and was similarly crafted from highly decorative iron bars. The bed, as my back could attest, was also made to fit the highest standards, and was able to reduce your back muscles to a tangle of aching knots within five minutes. All in all, it was a breath-taking place with a charming atmosphere. The previous tenant had even left me a little present in the form of a puddle of well-matured goo in the corner. It emitted the most delicious, stomach-turning odour and completed the whole ambience to misery in perfection. The pale light of the moon which filtered in through the small window didn¡¯t make the scene any cheerier.

 Page 6

    At least there was no one else in the cell with me. The policemen had put me in solitary confinement. I would have liked to think that was for my protection, but truth be told, they probably thought it was safer for the other prisoners. After all, they couldn¡¯t want those poor misunderstood thieves, burglars and murderers in the same cell as a raving madwoman who had dressed up as a man and thus had given proof of the fact that she had absolutely no morals whatsoever, could they?


    Groaning, I shuffled until I was sitting on the bunk, my chin resting in my open palm. A truly philosophical position, ideally suited for pondering my fate. What would be my punishment for my little subterfuge? Would I be sent to prison for daring to defy the laws of England? Or put in the stocks? Or transported to the colonies like a common thief?[3] That last thought cheered me up considerably. I had heard that some of the colonies were much more civilized and advanced when it came to the independence of women than our dear mother country. Plus, my aunt and uncle would then be a few thousand miles away from me.


    But then I thought of my friends and of my little sister, Ella, and immediately regretted my selfish desire to be shipped off to a criminal colony. I couldn¡¯t leave. And even if I could get out of England, I knew I would rather stay and fight for my rights. Running from my problems had never been my style. Grabbing them by the throat and shaking them until they capitulated, that was more my way of dealing with things.


    Not that this particular strategy had proven very helpful to me recently. After all, I had tried to grab political freedom for women by the throat, and it had just slipped through my fingers. Would it be like that with every other kind of freedom? Yes, it probably would. It wasn¡¯t just voting that ladies weren¡¯t allowed to do. I was well aware that there were other, even more essential, freedoms.


    Shifting uncomfortably, I could feel Mr Ambrose¡¯s card pressing against my skin where I had stuffed it into my sleeve to conceal it from the Bobby who had taken my personal effects. Yes, a lady definitely lacked certain freedoms. Such as the right to work for a living, for instance.


    You are not seriously thinking about going to his office on Monday morning, are you? I heard a nagging little voice from the back of my mind. Forget it! Forget about him. Forget he ever existed, or that you met, or that he offered you a job. He won¡¯t give it to you now, knowing who you really are.


    He wouldn¡¯t, would he?


    No, certainly not.


    Almost certainly.


    But¡­


    But if there was a chance, even a tiny chance, that he might still hire me, shouldn¡¯t I take it? This wasn¡¯t just about demonstrating my will to be free to the oppressors of womanhood. This was more serious. Often enough had I wondered about what would happen with me if my uncle, the one who took me and my siblings in after our parent¡¯s death, were suddenly to die. Deep inside, I knew the answer. There was no one to take care of us. We would be out on the streets faster than you could say Jack Robinson. We would be reduced to begging or seeking charity. And there were already plenty of people in line for that.


    What could a young lady like me do, really do, to earn money? Would they even let me into a factory? There were tens of thousands of working-class men, women and children available for those jobs, and I suspected they were ten times better at spinning and weaving cotton than I would be. For one thing, they¡¯d had a few decades of practise.


    Besides, these jobs were bone-breaking work for little money. I had taken the time once to calculate whether I could survive on my own out there if I were able to get such a job. A factory worker earned about 1s 3d per day. That made about 400s per year, or in other words, ¡ê20.[4] The average rent for a nice, comfortable home was about ¡ê100. So, if I took up factory work, I would be able to rent one fifth of a house, provided I managed to live without food, water or clothes for an entire year. I really wasn¡¯t that keen on intense fasting or full-time nudity.


    Sometimes I wondered how those working-class people managed to live at all. But I soon stopped wondering, because I had enough problems of my own.


    Once again I thought of the card in my sleeve. Yes, factory work was out of the question. This kind of work, however¡­ Mr Ambrose had offered me a job as a private secretary. That was a prestigious post, and well-paid. It could be the way to my freedom, the opportunity I had hoped for all my life. What if I just tried to go there and¡­?


    No!


    I shook my head. But the card in my sleeve didn¡¯t seem to think much of my denial. It pressed into my skin in an ever nastier manner, proving itself to have quite sharp and annoying edges. Well¡­ I looked around. There was nobody here but me. Nobody would see. It couldn¡¯t hurt to just take out the card and look at it again, could it?


    Quickly, I fished it out and held it up into the moonlight filtering in through my panorama gutter-window.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Empire House


    322 Leadenhall Street


    Hm. It still appeared strange to me that it didn¡¯t say anything about his titles or occupation - as if the man expected everybody to know who he was. And maybe, just maybe, he might be right to assume so. Leadenhall Street¡­ the name rang a bell somewhere.


    With sudden realization, my head jerked up from where it rested on my knees and I snapped my fingers. That was it! Wasn''t Leadenhall Street in the very heart of the banking district? Where all the largest banks and companies, even the East India Company and the Bank of England, had their offices? What was Mr Rikkard Ambrose doing there if, as I had assumed, he was a simple government official?


    Maybe I had misjudged him. There apparently were a few things hidden under that cold, flinty exterior.


    What would he say if I took him at his word and on Monday actually¡­ no! Again, I instinctively shook my head, trying to chase the mad thought away. I had to forget about it. It had been a preposterous idea in the first place. He would kick me out of his office as soon as he caught sight of me, or get his goons to do it. Maybe that mountainous fellow Karim. He looked like he could kick you all the way from here to Hampshire. And that wasn¡¯t considering what he could do with that pig sticker of his.


    And still¡­ still the possibility was tempting. My eyes glazed over as I considered the possibilities. My own job! My own money, earned with my own hands. Money to do with as I pleased. No longer would I be dependent on my miserly relatives, no longer would I have to dodge my aunt¡¯s not-so-subtle attempts at marrying me off.


    The mental image of a vulture-like little woman violently cut short my daydream of independence. Ah yes, my beloved aunt, Mrs Hester Mahulda Brank. Like most greedy people on this wonderful earth, she was most desirous of obtaining what she could not have. First and foremost among those desires was a craving for social status, which her nieces, as daughters of a gentleman, automatically had, and she, as the daughter of a pawnbroker and a lady of questionable honour, was incredibly jealous of.

 Page 7

    Mrs Brank was determined, as recompense for all her expense in feeding and clothing us girls for all those years, to squeeze as much social advancement out of us as humanly possible, and would have happily auctioned us off to the highest bidder if by so doing she could have gained an invitation to a duchess¡¯s tea party. The sale of relatives, however, unfortunately being illegal in England, she was confined to trying to marry each of us off to as rich and noble a bridegroom as possible, thus killing two birds with one stroke: not only would she be ridding herself of expensive mouths to feed, but she also would be gaining entrance into higher society through her nephews-in-law. In this way, the six bothersome girls who had infested Mrs Brank¡¯s home for years would finally be turned from unremunerative properties into valuable investments.


    Hitherto, this brilliant scheme had met with little success. All six of us were still unmarried, and if I had my way, things were certainly going to stay that way, at least in my own case.


    My dear aunt, with the natural instinct of the born financier, sensed this reluctance on the part of her property - i.e. me - to be dispensed with at a good profit, and was not very pleased about it. She had pointed out more than once that we would not always be able to count on her and her husband¡¯s generosity, and that after their death, nobody would provide for us if we were not married.


    ¡®And what if I want to provide for myself?¡¯ I had asked her once when the subject had come up.


    She had stared at me as if I had been speaking a foreign language, and then given me a sour grimace which was probably supposed to have been a smile. She had thought I was joking.


    Well, here and now was a chance to provide for myself. A real chance. Thoughtfully, I stared at the card again. Money. Money to earn for myself. A way to freedom.


    If I didn¡¯t take it¡­ then it would be the street for me. Or worse, the workhouse.[5]


    I looked around. Not that I had ever seen a workhouse, myself - but I had heard the stories whispered all around London. This charming little cell might actually give a good indication of what life in such a pigsty of humanity would be like. Criminals and poor people were about the same thing in this glorious metropole[6] of the British Empire, and their accommodations were probably similar. Of course, as a poor workhouse inmate, I wouldn¡¯t have the luxury of a cell to myself, and the food would probably be scarcer, because, unlike criminals, poor people don¡¯t generate paperwork when they die of hunger. But it was only to be expected that criminals would get better treatment. After all, thieves and murderers were of some interest to the general public: they were the subject of heroic ballades and gripping newspaper articles. They had to be kept alive until they could be hanged to the cheers of the crowd. Poor people, on the other hand, were just dirty and dull. Who would want to waste food and living space on them?


    And that was the bright future that awaited me. Unless¡­ Unless Mr Ambrose¡­


    Suddenly, I heard a faint noise. Was it really what I thought? Yes! The jingle of keys. Someone was coming. Quickly, I tucked the card away and looked up. Startled by the sudden bright glow, I blinked and shielded my eyes with my hand. I had been so deep in thought that I hadn¡¯t noticed how the time had flown by. Now I saw a faint orange glow falling through the window into the cell. The sun was rising. The jingling from outside the cell grew louder and was joined by the sound of heavy footsteps.


    I watched the cell door apprehensively. After a few more moments, a thick-set bobby appeared from around the corner. I could see him approach through the iron bars of the door. He unlocked it with a rusty key and pulled it open, gesturing for me to exit.


    ¡®What now?¡¯ I asked, not managing to keep apprehension from creeping into my voice.


    The portly constable frowned. ¡®What do ye mean, ¡°what now¡±, Miss?¡¯


    ¡®What will happen to me? How will I be punished?¡¯


    He blinked like a little piggy. Then, he opened his mouth and started to laugh. He continued to laugh for some time, holding his belly all the while. The keys jingled in the rhythm of his merriment.


    ¡®Oh my God, Miss,¡¯ he gasped, still holding his belly. ¡®We ain¡¯t gonna punish people for things like that! A woman trying to vote? We might as well punish every nutter running around in the streets, and then we¡¯d be busy till kingdom come. Why, only the other day I met a man in a pub who told me that we¡¯re all descendants of apes![7]Clearly off his rocker, the chap. And I didn¡¯t even reprimand him.¡¯ He chuckled once more. ¡®Now come on, Miss. It¡¯s time for ye to go.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not going to be thrown into prison?¡¯ I demanded, actually sounding a little offended. I had expected some horrendous punishment. After all, I had bravely defied the chauvinist establishment. That deserved some recognition, at the very least, didn¡¯t it? A few years ago, at the Peterloo massacre, the authorities had come down hard on a crowd of working-class men demonstrating for their right to vote, resulting in twelve dead and three-hundred injured. And now they were simply going to let me go, just because I was a woman? There was no justice in this world! ¡®That¡¯s not fair! They¡¯re not even going to put me on trial?¡¯


    The bobby shook his head.


    ¡®Nay. We wouldn¡¯t want to bother a judge with this, he¡¯d fine us for wasting his time. Now come on, Miss.¡¯


    For a moment, I considered whether I should insist on my right to go to prison. But at heart I was a practical person, and I really didn¡¯t want to spend another night on that bunk bed. So, grudgingly, I rose and followed the constable out of the cell to the small office of the police station, which smelled faintly of spit tobacco and bacon.


    ¡®Just wait a moment, Miss, while I get your things,¡¯ the still-smiling bobby said and waddled off to a cupboard in the corner. Opening the cupboard door, he rummaged around inside and came back with something big and black in his hand. ¡®There ye go, Miss,¡¯ he said in a stern and annoyingly fatherly manner, handing me all my personal belongings, contained in the top hat I had worn when I first set out on my little adventure. ¡®I really hope this will be a lesson to ye.¡¯


    ¡®Yes it will,¡¯ I assured him, adding to myself, too quietly for him to hear: ¡®I¡¯ll make sure not to curtsy next time.¡¯


    Yes, next time I wouldn¡¯t get caught. Next time, I would succeed, because now I knew how hazardous good manners could be. I had never entirely agreed with my aunt, who had always thought them of such great importance, and now I finally knew I had been right all along. They were superfluous and dangerous - they could get you thrown into prison!

 Page 8

    The bobby escorted me to the door of the police station, obviously wanting to make sure he would be rid of the madwoman, now that she was out of the cell and could start climbing up the walls or spouting feminist nonsense again at any moment. I was more than happy to oblige him and stepped out of the brick building into a glorious Saturday morning. The sun was shining and the fog was only slight today, the wind blowing in the opposite direction from the River Thames, making the morning air comparatively clear by London standards.


    I immediately set out towards home. I wasn¡¯t sure what my aunt had made of my overnight absence. She might not even have noticed it. With six of us in the house, and ninety per cent of her brain cells occupied with saving housekeeping money, she sometimes forgot one or another of her nieces. Sometimes I got lucky and it was my turn. Maybe, if I was really lucky, that had been the case last night.


    At least I knew she hadn¡¯t completely run haywire and contacted the police, fearing I had been abducted or some such nonsense. If she had, the police would have informed her that her dear niece was perfectly safe, though a bit bedraggled and sitting, dressed in men¡¯s clothes, in one of their cells. If she had heard that, my aunt would have come to get me. And I don''t know whether I would have survived the encounter. As it was, I had hopes of escaping relatively unscathed.


    As if in answer to my hopeful attitude, the rows of dark houses parted before me and granted me a beautiful view of Green Park. In the warm glow of the sunrise, the small park looked like a fairy kingdom planted between the strict, orderly houses of middle-class London. A few birds were hopping on the grass, and the wind rippled the surface of a little pond surrounded by wildflowers. Through a clump of trees on the opposite side of the park, I could see the houses of St. James¡¯s Street.


    My Uncle Bufford had lived on St. James¡¯s Street ever since I could remember, and we had lived with him and his wife ever since I could walk. We - that is my five sisters and I - had had to quit our family¡¯s country estate years ago, after our mother and father died and the estate went to the next male heir of the line. If you believed the stories of my older siblings, who could still remember the place, it had been a veritable palace with hundreds of servants and doorknobs made of gold. I didn¡¯t. Believe their stories, I mean. But I did somewhat resent the thing about this supposedly ¡®rightful heir¡¯ snatching away our family¡¯s estate just because he was a dratted man!


    Oh well, to tell the truth, I didn¡¯t remember our childhood home in the country well, and I didn¡¯t want to. I was a city girl, and the few trees and lawns of Green Park were as much country as I could deal with at any given time.


    Squaring my shoulders, I made my way through the park, enjoying the songs of the birds in the trees and the fresh morning breeze. The country was a nice thing, as long as it was in the middle of town and you could reach a civilized place with shops, libraries and newspapers within five minutes or so.


    Five minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, I had reached the wall that encircled our little garden, a rare thing in the city of London. Over the wall, I could see the plain, orderly brick house with its plain, orderly windows, plain, orderly curtains and plain, orderly smoke curling out the chimney in a discreet and economical manner. The flowerbeds around the house were well-kept, but strict and simple. Everything was rectangular and neat. There wasn¡¯t a piece of decoration in sight. Sometimes, when I looked at this house I had been living in for years now, I thought it should have a sign over the door saying, ¡®Fortress of the Bourgeoisie, centre of the realm of hard work and stinginess. Beware of the aunt. She bites!¡¯


    There was only one bright spot among all the neat tediousness: the window of a first floor room. It afforded a wonderful view over Green Park - which was why, when we had arrived at this house years ago, the room had been dusty and unused, and my uncle had never set foot in it. He had probably been afraid the annoyingly beautiful view might distract him, or worse, tempt him to actually take a walk and thus waste valuable time he otherwise could have spent working.


    But that had been just fine with me. When we had arrived at my uncle¡¯s, I had seen the dusty, deserted old room, fallen in love with it and taken possession before any of my sisters could complain. I had defended my conquest with my very life! Only Ella, my youngest sister, and of all of them the one I could stomach best, had been allowed to enter my dominion and make her abode there along with me.


    Right now, the fact that my room looked out over the back garden came in handy in a way which had nothing whatsoever to do with the beautiful view. Hurrying across the street, I opened the little door in the garden wall with the key I had secretly ¡®borrowed¡¯ from my uncle, along with his clothes and passport. Inside, I quickly made my way to the garden shed. Taking out the rickety old ladder that had been in there since time immemorial, I carefully put it to the wall of the house and started climbing up to the window which I had taken care to leave unlatched. If I was lucky, I would get back into the house without anybody being the wiser.


    Climbing up the ladder proved to be considerably more difficult than climbing down had been. My muscles were aching from the night in the cell, and there seemed to be several large lead weights tied to my behind, pulling me down. Or maybe it was just my behind that felt so heavy¡­


    No! It was just generous, after all, not fat. Definitely not fat.


    Sweat ran down my face in rivulets by the time I had reached the top of the ladder. I clung to the windowsill for a moment, making sure my aching legs would be up for the task, then I hoisted myself inside and landed rather inelegantly on the floor. Done! I was back home, and nobody had seen me sneak in. I remained kneeling on the floor for a moment longer to catch my breath, and then turned and got up - to find my sister Ella sitting just a few feet away on her bed, staring at me, her mouth agape in shock.


    Oh, did I happen to mention she hadn¡¯t known anything of my leaving yesterday?


    Blast, blast, blast!


    Who He Really Is


    ¡®Where have you been?¡¯ Ella demanded in a breathless voice, jumping up from the bed, where, judging from the dampness of her pillows, she had spent half the night crying in despair. ¡®Oh Lilly, I¡¯ve been so worried!¡¯


    She definitely looked worried. Her normally cream-coloured face had taken on the hue of a freshly whitewashed wall, except for her large almond eyes, which were shining with suppressed anguish. With both hands, she held a handkerchief to her mouth as if to stifle a scream that was on the tip of her tongue. Glittering tears decorated her face like diamonds. I had to hand it to her: she looked like a perfect damsel in distress. And it hadn¡¯t even been she who had spent the night in prison. How did she do it?

 Page 9

    ¡®What has happened to you, Lilly? Were you abducted? Who were you with? Where were you? And¡­ Why are you wearing Uncle Bufford¡¯s old striped trousers?¡¯ At the last question, she actually stopped crying. Apparently, my wearing striped trousers had a calming effect on her. I should try to do it more often.


    ¡®Don¡¯t worry,¡¯ I told her, patting her on the head. ¡®I¡¯m perfectly fine.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, but where were you?¡¯ she repeated the question with more force.


    I shrugged. ¡®Out.¡¯


    ¡®Where?¡¯


    ¡®Somewhere in town.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯ve been gone the whole night!¡¯


    ¡®Have I?¡¯ I tried to sound surprised. It didn¡¯t sound very convincing, unfortunately. ¡®My, my, how time flies.¡¯


    ¡®Why are you wearing Uncle Bufford¡¯s trousers?¡¯ she asked again. Apparently, this point was of extraordinary significance to her.


    ¡®Well, I¡­¡¯ Desperately I wracked my brain for some legitimate reason why a girl should be wandering through London dressed in trousers.


    Instinctively, my eyes slid up and down Ella¡¯s figure. She was dressed in what was considered normal and decent for a young lady to wear: a pale cotton gown with wide, puffed sleeves and lace trimmings, and, of course, the crinoline, a structure for supporting enormous hoop skirts that was made out of the bones of whales. The poor sea creatures had to suffer to give the rear end of every lady within the British Empire preposterous dimensions. This was what was considered ¡®normal¡¯.


    Taking this into consideration, was there a legitimate reason why a woman would want to wear trousers?


    Well, maybe because she actually had some brains¡­


    ¡®Why don¡¯t you answer, Lilly? What is the matter?¡¯


    But no, that wouldn¡¯t work as an argument with Ella. I bit my lip, trying desperately to think of something to say.


    ¡®Please,¡¯ she pleaded, clasping her hands together like a little child. ¡®Please tell me where you were!¡¯


    Darn it! How could I resist her? But I simply couldn¡¯t tell her what had really happened.


    Don¡¯t get me wrong, it wasn¡¯t that I didn¡¯t trust her. I loved her. I would have trusted her with my deepest, darkest secrets - if she hadn¡¯t been afraid of the dark, that is. If I told her that I went out, dressed in men¡¯s clothes, to illegally vote at a parliamentary election, was offered a job as a secretary, got caught by the police, then got thrown into jail and spent the night next door to three famous murderers, she would have nightmares for the next three years.


    ¡®I¡­ I wanted to go out last night to visit Patsy,¡¯ I fibbed. ¡®And you know¡­ it was so late, and the streets were so dark¡­ I was afraid something might happen to me, a lone girl, in the dangerous city.¡¯ I affected a quite convincing shudder. ¡®And I had read in some book - I don''t remember the title right now - of girls dressing up as men when they did not want to be harassed, so I thought why not do the same, and so I did. But then it was so terrible out in the dark streets, and Patsy said I could stay the night if I didn¡¯t want to return in the dark. I was afraid, so I stayed. Sorry for worrying you.¡¯


    I waited for the admonishment. No doubt even my sweet, unsuspecting sister would see through this feeble lie. When in the world had I ever been afraid of anything, let alone something as ridiculous as the dark? Rather than dressing in my uncle¡¯s clothes to avoid trouble, I would have taken my uncle¡¯s cane to deal with trouble if it chose to appear. What would I say next if Ella didn¡¯t believe me?


    ¡®Oh, my poor, poor Lilly.¡¯ Ella rushed towards me. The next thing I knew she was hugging me tightly, though slightly awkwardly because of her enormous hoop skirt getting in the way. ¡®That must have been so terrible! You must have been really frightened.¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ yes,¡¯ I mumbled. ¡®I was, I was really.¡¯ Dear Lord, she had actually swallowed it!


    ¡®Poor Lilly. You are so brave. Oh, I would have died from fear if I had to set a foot outside the house at night.¡¯


    ¡®Well it¡¯s fortunate that I went out then, and not you,¡¯ I said, patting her head reassuringly. ¡®I like you alive and kicking.¡¯


    ¡®We must go to Aunt Brank, Lilly, immediately,¡¯ Ella insisted, stood back and grasped me by the hand. ¡®She wanted to know where you had disappeared to. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s frantic with worry.¡¯


    Oh blast! Ella, the sweet little angel, might be easy to fool, but my aunt was another matter. If she saw me in striped trousers it would most definitely not have a calming effect on her. Quite the opposite, I suspected.


    Ella was already turning and starting towards the door when I grasped her by the arm. ¡®Stop! Wait.¡¯


    ¡®Why? We shouldn¡¯t wait. She must be terribly worried!¡¯


    Worried? Not worried for me, that was for sure. Worried that I had committed some humongous, scandalous transgression, maybe. That was always her first assumption when anything out of the ordinary happened near me: blame Lilly. And in this case she would actually be right.


    ¡®Um¡­ I can¡¯t let her see me like this.¡¯ I gestured at Uncle Bufford¡¯s old trousers. ¡®She would be very upset.¡¯


    To be honest, ''very upset'' was putting it mildly. But I thought it better to couch it in gentler terms for the benefit of my little sister.


    Ella clutched her hands in front of her chest. ¡®Oh, you are right! Oh, Lilly, what shall we do?¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ change?¡¯ I suggested. ¡®At least I should. You are fine as you are.¡¯


    ¡®Quite right!¡¯ A beaming smile spread across Ella¡¯s face. ¡®And then we will go down to see Aunt?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, yes.¡¯


    Quickly I went to the big old wardrobe that took up a considerable portion of the room. Its size was hardly justified by its contents: one coat and two dresses for each of us. No ball gowns, no large collection of dresses like many of the ladies in town possessed.


    Originally, there had even been only one dress for each of us, until I had pointed out to my dear aunt and uncle that if one dress got dirty, you needed a second one to change into, since it was hardly proper for a lady to run around stark-naked. Grudgingly, my uncle had conceded the point and opened his precious purse to buy each of us another dress. The plainest and cheapest that could be found in the city of London.


    This was the dress I now took out of the wardrobe, not forgetting to thank the Lord for my uncle¡¯s stinginess. The very fact that it was so plain made it a marvellous camouflage for dodging the prospective suitors my aunt flung at me at regular intervals.

 Page 10

    ¡®Here, hold this for a moment, will, you?¡¯ I asked Ella, with one hand starting to open the belt which held Uncle Bufford¡¯s old trousers in place, and handing her my favourite armour against suitors with the other.


    You aren¡¯t likely to need it to fend off many suitors, though, are you? said a nasty little voice in the back of my head. Not as long as you look so unlike a girl that the most masculine of men doesn''t even recognize you as female.


    ¡®Help me put this on, will you?¡¯ I said to Ella, to drown out the annoying voice in my head. I would not think of Mr Ambrose again. I had done more than enough of that in prison.


    ¡®Of course,¡¯ she responded with a sweet smile and was just about to unbutton the dress when a knock from the door froze her in place. That knock managed to drive all thoughts of Mr Ambrose out of my head far more successfully than any attempts on my part.


    ¡®Ella? Ella, are you still in there? Who are you talking to?¡¯ The high tones of my aunt¡¯s voice penetrated the door. I would have said her voice sounded something like a piece of chalk being dragged across a blackboard, but that would be an insult to chalk all over the world.


    Before I could stop her, Ella smiled and cried, elated: ¡®It¡¯s Lilly, Aunt! She has come back!¡¯


    There was a pause. It was filled with the threat of sudden and violent doom. ¡®Lillian? Is it true? Are you in there?¡¯


    For a moment I considered shouting back, ¡®No, not really¡¯ - but then I gave up. There was no sense in pretending anymore.


    ¡®Yes, Aunt, I am here.¡¯


    ¡®Come out at once! I wish to speak with you. You have a lot to explain, young lady!¡¯


    On tiptoes, I went to the door and bolted it.


    ¡®What are you doing?¡¯ Ella mouthed at me, her eyes wide.


    ¡®Protecting our necks,¡¯ I mouthed back at her.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry, Aunt, but that will have to wait a while,¡¯ I called out. ¡®I¡¯m dressing at the moment.¡¯


    ¡®So what? I am your Aunt. I have seen you dress since you were a little girl.¡¯ She turned the doorknob and pushed - but the door wouldn¡¯t budge. ¡®Lillian? Lillian, don''t tell me this door is bolted!¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s fine,¡¯ I answered in as light a tone as I could manage while frantically unbuttoning Uncle Bufford¡¯s waistcoat. ¡®I won¡¯t tell you, I promise.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t get smart with me, young lady! Is this door bolted?¡¯


    ¡®You just asked me not to tell you that. So I can¡¯t, even though technically it actually might be true.¡¯


    ¡®Lillian!¡¯


    Oh-oh¡­ maybe I shouldn¡¯t push her too far.


    ¡®Yes, Aunt, it is bolted.¡¯


    ¡®Then unbolt and open it at once.¡¯


    ¡®Sorry, I can¡¯t do that.¡¯ Quickly, I ripped the waistcoat off and stuffed it under my pillow. Now I was standing half-naked in my room, dressed only in striped trousers, a corset and a top hat which for some reason hadn¡¯t fallen off my head yet. ¡®I, err¡­ I am preparing a special look for myself today. You always say how I don''t look ladylike enough, don''t you? Well, I¡¯m giving it a special effort today, and I want to surprise you.¡¯


    ¡®Is that really true?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯ I glanced down at my corset and striped trousers. ¡®You wouldn¡¯t believe how I look right now - it¡¯s so different from the usual. Trust me.¡¯


    ¡®I want to know where you were last night.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ll tell you as soon as I¡¯m finished dressing.¡¯ That would give me a little more time to prepare a convincing variation of the lie I had told Ella.


    ¡®Were you with a man?¡¯


    I rolled my eyes. Of course that would be the first conclusion my aunt would come to.


    ¡®Will he make an honest woman of you?¡¯ she demanded.


    ¡®No,¡¯ I hissed. All this talk was distracting. Angrily, I fumbled at a waistcoat button which wouldn¡¯t do what I wanted. I needed to get these clothes off fast.


    ¡®What? What kind of rake have you gotten yourself mixed up with?¡¯


    ¡®I didn¡¯t mean no as in ¡°no he won¡¯t make an honest woman of me¡±. I meant no as in ¡°no, I wasn¡¯t with a man¡±.¡¯


    ¡®Oh.¡¯ She pondered that for a moment, and then demanded: ¡®Well, where were you, then?¡¯


    Quickly I looked around for a place to hide the top hat. There wasn¡¯t any place I could see, so I just chucked it out of the open window. I would get it later when all the hubbub was over.


    ¡®Like I said, Aunt, I¡¯ll tell you when I¡¯m finished preparing my special look.¡¯


    ¡®What kind of special look? What exactly is it that you are doing in there?¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ Ella will tell you. I¡¯m too busy with dressing.¡¯


    I climbed out of the trousers and stuffed them inside my second dress in the wardrobe. When I turned to her, Ella was gaping at me in horror.


    ¡®What am I supposed to tell her?¡¯ she mouthed.


    ¡®Think of something,¡¯ I mouthed back and then transferred my attention to the dress I would have to worm myself into.


    Handing it to me, Ella hurried to the door.


    ¡®Err¡­ Aunt, well, Lilly is¡­ Lilly is¡­¡¯


    Furiously I tried to struggle into the crinoline while Ella stood at the door and with a quivering voice told my aunt some nonsense story about how I was doing my hair in a special new style. God, couldn¡¯t she think of a good lie for once? It would be a special day when I decided to style my hair at all, let alone in some special way. My brown locks always looked as if a hurricane had just gone through them in any case, so why bother?


    But amazingly, my aunt seemed to swallow the story. She stopped trying to come in, and, after a time, went off grumbling.


    Five minutes later I was completely dressed, styled and mentally prepared. Ella had even lavished her skills on me and provided me with a hasty yet luscious hairdo, to give at least a little bit of credence to her story. She squeezed my hand in silent encouragement. Finally, I took a deep breath, unbolted the door, plastered a bright smile on my face and stepped out into enemy territory.


    My aunt was waiting for me on the landing, her thin arms folded in front of her chest, the glower of her narrow eyes directed at me like that of the ancient Roman god Jupiter at some poor wrongdoer he was just about to smite with a thunderbolt. All she was missing was the toga and the long white beard.

 Page 11

    ¡®Where were you?¡¯ she demanded, the beady little eyes in her vulture-like face narrowing with suspicion. ¡®And be warned - I will brook no evasions this time!¡¯


    ¡®Oh, me?¡¯ I said brightly. ¡®I was at Patsy¡¯s and stayed the night. Just came back, in fact. Don¡¯t you remember? I told you the day before yesterday that I would stay at her place.¡¯


    Keep it simple. Don¡¯t say anything else. Just keep it simple and for God¡¯s sake, don¡¯t blink.


    My aunt¡¯s glower flickered. I waited, holding my breath. I had gambled on her nature: my dear aunt was suspicious to the bone, but she also didn¡¯t actually care tuppence about how I spent my time, as long as it didn¡¯t threaten her social standing or the contents of her purse. If I had gotten myself killed last night she wouldn¡¯t have cared, if I had done it in a nice, quiet manner. I saw the suspicion gradually lift from her bony face to be replaced by her usual expression of mild distaste. ¡®Um¡­ err¡­ yes, now that you mention it I do recall something of the kind,¡¯ she said slowly. ¡®The day before yesterday, you say?¡¯


    ¡®Exactly,¡¯ I confirmed, letting my smile grow even more bright and confident. ¡®Where did you think I was? Did you think I spent the night in prison?¡¯


    Her mouth thinned. ¡®Lillian! Don¡¯t even joke about such a thing! It is unbecoming of a lady!¡¯


    ¡®Of course. I am sorry.¡¯


    Behind me, I heard Ella carefully step out of the room. She had obviously listened and knew that the danger of actual bloodshed was passed.


    ¡®Shall we go down to breakfast?¡¯ I suggested. ¡®I am hungry after my walk.¡¯


    Nodding, and still frowning slightly, my aunt turned and led the way down the stairs. Behind her, I let out a deep breath. Thank the Lord for uncaring relatives.


    Breakfast. The most important meal of the day, it is said. And, in many families under the glorious rule of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, an occasion for the entire household to gather around the table and make polite small talk about their plans for the day, while consuming luscious delicacies. I had read once, when for some reason I had peeked into a cookbook, that in the usual upper middle-class family, the following was brought to the table, for one breakfast:


    ? fresh sausages


    ? boiled eggs


    ? a cold ham


    ? porridge with fresh cream & butter


    ? kippers


    ? a pheasant pie


    ? fresh curds and whey


    ? corn muffins


    ? fresh bread


    ? marmalade


    ? honey


    ? coffee


    ? tea


    The cookbook had also suggested that a red and white chequered tablecloth should be avoided since it could have adverse effects on the digestion.


    Breakfast at my uncle¡¯s house was slightly different. For one thing, my dear Uncle Brank only owned one tablecloth - a dark brown one, so stains would not be visible and it wouldn¡¯t have to be washed so often. For another, the meal was not quite so opulent. And as for the polite small talk at table, that was inhibited slightly by the fact that my uncle wasn¡¯t actually present.


    Mr Brank had not come down into the dining room to take his meals for years, not since his sister and her husband had died, leaving him the task of looking after six of these strange, unpleasant little creatures commonly referred to as ¡®girls¡¯. Mr Brank was not fond of female company. He¡¯d had to acquire a wife at some point in his life, of course, in order to produce an offspring who could someday take over the business, but at least she was a sensible, economical woman. These¡­ ¡®girls¡¯ were another matter entirely.


    Thus it was that when we arrived in the dining room that morning, the big chair at the head of the table was empty, and my aunt bore an especially sour expression on her thin face. Leadfield, our only servant, who held the position of butler, valet, scullion and shoeblack all at the same time, was waiting for us and bowed as far as his ancient back would allow.


    ¡®Breakfast is served, Madam.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you, Leadfield,¡¯ my aunt said in a cool voice, repeating the ritual that had taken place in our household for over a decade. With another bow and a sweep of his bony arm Leadfield directed us to the table.


    ¡®Will Mr Brank be joining us at the breakfast table today, Leadfield?¡¯ my aunt asked, continuing the ritual.


    ¡®The master is very busy and left early for work this morning,¡¯ Leadfield gave the expected answer. ¡®I brought him his breakfast earlier, up in his study.¡¯


    ¡®I see.¡¯


    I saw my aunt throw a piercing glower up at the door of Uncle Brank¡¯s study, just visible upstairs. It had long been his inner sanctum and impenetrable fortress, where no female, not even my aunt, was allowed to enter.


    When Mr Brank¡¯s sister and her husband, my beloved mother and father, had been so inconsiderate as to die in an accident, and this horde of chattering miniature females had invaded his home, Mr Brank had wisely decided to retreat and establish a secure base in his upstairs study, where these small creatures would not dare to venture. Instead of coming down to breakfast, lunch and dinner, he preferred to have his meals brought up to him by the aged butler, or to simply eat at work. Needless to say that this did not endear us girls to his wife, who lost many an opportunity to discuss at the table with her husband such important subjects as her latest efforts in household savings and the profligacy of the neighbours.


    This time, things were no different. My aunt pursed her lips as the other doors to the dining room opened and my other sisters filed in from various parts of the house, yet my uncle remained absent.


    ¡®Are you sure he is already gone, Leadfield?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Madam.¡¯


    She sniffed. ¡®Well, hopefully he will join us tomorrow.¡¯


    ¡®Hopefully, Madam,¡¯ Leadfield concurred.


    ¡®You may serve the first course.¡¯


    The first and only, I thought, shaking my head.


    ¡®Yes, Madam. Thank you, Madam.¡¯


    With all the dignity of a host of royal lackeys serving a voluptuous feast, Leadfield took the lid off the porcelain bowl in the middle of the table and poured each of us a healthy portion of porridge. To this he added some potatoes and salted herrings - the cheapest and most nourishing food that could be found on the London market. Say what you will, my uncle didn¡¯t starve us. Over the years, I even had gotten quite a taste for salted herrings.

 Page 12

    My aunt obviously didn¡¯t feel like that. She eyed the fish on her plate with ambivalence. I could clearly see two of her strongest instincts warring with one another: her stinginess, which told her that this was the cheapest food you could get without poisoning yourself, and her social aspirations, which told her that a lady would under no circumstances eat something that also formed the regular diet of Irish peasants. In the end, stinginess, aided by a rumbling stomach, seemed to win out. She poked one of the potatoes with her fork as if she expected it to come alive and attack her. When it didn¡¯t, she impaled it and picked up her knife.


    I had already started shovelling porridge into my mouth while my aunt was occupied, taking the opportunity to actually get some serious eating done before my lack of table manners was noticed. Beside me, Ella ate with considerably better manners but equal enjoyment. Gertrude, my eldest sister and the old maid in the family, didn¡¯t seem to mind the plain food either. The others, however, - Lisbeth and especially the twins, Anne and Maria - looked rather contemptuously at their plates and took a long time to start eating.


    Even when they finally stuck their forks into the herring, they did not eat very much, and this was not just the case because they didn¡¯t like their food: unlike me, they considered themselves to be very fine ladies. Very fine ladies could under no circumstances talk with their mouths full, which meant they hardly ever could put a bite in their mouths.


    ¡®Have you heard?¡¯ Anne burst out as soon as we were all seated. ¡®Lord Tilsworth is engaged! And to a frightful girl, too. She is supposed to be one of the most low-minded creatures in London - and with horrible freckles all over her face. What in God¡¯s name induced him to marry her I cannot imagine! She¡¯s not even of the gentry, from what my friend Grace told me the other day.¡¯


    ¡®No!¡¯ gasped Maria. ¡®Can it be true that he is throwing himself away on somebody like that? I can hardly believe it!¡¯


    ¡®It is true, I swear it. As I said, I had it from Grace, who had it from Beatrice, who had it from Sarah, who had it from her second cousin, who heard it all from the cousin of Lord Tilsworth¡¯s second chambermaid.¡¯


    ¡®Which of course means that it must be true,¡¯ I mumbled, rolling my eyes and chewing my potatoes.


    ¡®Lillian!¡¯ snapped my beloved aunt. ¡®Don¡¯t talk with your mouth full.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Aunt.¡¯


    ¡®Such a pity,¡¯ Maria sighed. ¡®Tilsworth would have been such a catch. And he was quite taken with me at the last ball.¡¯


    I rolled my eyes again and hoped my aunt wouldn¡¯t see. She would probably consider that unladylike behaviour, too. Oh yes, the last ball. Anne and Maria had been talking about it for days and days now. They were the only ones of us who actually ever got invited to any balls, because they were the only ones pretty enough in the eyes of the gentlemen. No, that wasn¡¯t quite true. Ella could have given them a run for their money - if she hadn¡¯t been so painfully shy. But as it was, Anne and Maria, pale, tall and sickly-looking, with dark circles under their eyes and that demure look that gentlemen favoured so much, were the only ones of us ever getting into society.


    Which was pretty much how I liked it. They were welcome to all the balls and all the men they could get. They could have thousands and thousands of men, and have illicit affairs with them or marry one or all of them, or cook them for dinner if they really wanted to. I would wish them the best of luck. But why oh why did they have to bore the rest of us to death by talking about it?


    ¡®¡­and the Earl of Farthingham is supposed to be engaged to Lady Melrose.¡¯


    ¡®Really, Anne? I hadn¡¯t heard that.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Maria. You see, it¡¯s a frightful secret because¡­¡¯


    I ignored them to the best of my ability and concentrated on my salted herrings, while they kept gossiping about the famous Admiral this and the rich Mister that. My thoughts were neither on my food nor on society, however. They were on a certain tall, dark-eyed individual and on one question that kept coming back to the forefront of my mind ever since he had given me his card: Should I go there?


    I didn¡¯t even know why I was still thinking about it. A normal lady wouldn¡¯t even consider trying to get a job.


    Ah yes, that snarky little voice in the back of my mind said, but then, a normal lady wouldn¡¯t try to go voting dressed up as a man, would she? Ladies simply weren¡¯t supposed to be independent. They were expected to marry, sit at home and look pretty. And that¡¯s not exactly what you have in mind for your life, is it?


    I threw a glance at Anne and Maria. They obviously were content with this lot in life. And why not? They were pretty, they could sit still very well, and to judge from the effort which they put into their social exploits, they would marry well, too. The young men of London were, from what I could gather, full of praise for their beauty and accomplishments, and were only quarrelling about which of the two to praise more. Quite a hard decision, since they were twins and identical to the last lock of their golden hair.


    Indeed, Anne and Maria would make very fine ladies. I, on the other hand, had always had a rather stormy temperament that didn¡¯t lend itself well to the idea of marriage. Not as long as the vows included an oath of obedience to a man, anyway.


    I definitely wanted to do more with my life than exist as an appendix to some chauvinist blockhead. So why did I hesitate, now that this golden opportunity had presented itself?


    Maybe because I remembered with crystal-like clarity the darkness in Mr Ambrose¡¯s eyes. I remembered how that muscled mountain, Karim, had dragged off the fat man at his master¡¯s command. Mr Ambrose was no friendly or gentle man. There was a good chance that going there would cost me dearly. Still, his offer was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.


    Now the question was: for this opportunity, was I prepared to enter the lion¡¯s den without knowing if an open maw awaited me?


    In my mind, I again saw an image of his dark eyes - dark eyes so deep you could drown in them. They seemed to draw me towards them. Suddenly, I didn¡¯t feel as hesitant about going as I had a moment ago.


    His offer, I reminded myself. That is the only reason you¡¯re thinking about him, the only reason for going to see him again. This man is your ticket to freedom. Remember that, and while you¡¯re at it, forget about his hard, chiselled face and those deep, dark eyes¡­


    But somehow I couldn¡¯t seem to manage. His eyes seemed to stare at me constantly out of my memory, burning holes into my mind. In those eyes I saw ruthlessness, arrogance, anger and more icy cold than in an arctic blizzard.

 Page 13

    Why couldn¡¯t I stop thinking about them? About him? I had never thought much about a man before. The way they behaved themselves, regardless of their looks, had always been enough to make me want to give them a good kick in the backside. But there was something about Mr Ambrose, something about those dark sea-coloured eyes, his granite face and the way he held himself, ramrod-straight and immovable, which I couldn¡¯t get out of my head. I had a feeling that if I tried to kick him, I would end up breaking every single one of my toes.


    I wanted to go to him, to grab this golden opportunity, and at the same time I wanted nothing so much as to run away to hide in some corner where his dark eyes couldn¡¯t find me. If I only knew more about him, knew who or what he was and what I would be facing, maybe I could work up the courage to go to his office. But how in the world could I find out anything about him?


    ¡®¡­and Sir Ralley was so taken with the French Countess, I doubt he¡¯ll be able to resist another week. If he doesn¡¯t propose soon, I know nothing about London society. And I¡¯m an expert, trust me. It¡¯s a marvel that¡­¡¯


    My hand froze in mid-air, half a herring hanging from my fork. Anne¡¯s words, which I had only heard by accident, had struck me like a thunderbolt.


    I¡¯m an expert. Trust me.


    That was it! I just might find out more about him simply by asking! After all, I had a veritable fountain of information about London¡¯s society at my disposal. Two of them, in fact, or even three if you counted my aunt, who, although she wasn¡¯t able to go out as much as Anne and Maria, was just as addicted to the gossip of the high society. And to the high society, I was sure by now in spite of his simple attire, Mr Ambrose belonged without a doubt.


    It was still unlikely that they would know of him. There were thousands of upper-class people residing in London, the capital of the world. But asking couldn¡¯t hurt.


    ¡®Err¡­ I have a question,¡¯ I said, laying down my fork and bisected herring.


    Maria waved a hand. ¡®Oh, leave us alone with your talks of politics and adventure stories and God knows what else, Lilly. We¡¯re too busy with serious talk to be bothered with your nonsense.¡¯


    ¡®A question about society.¡¯


    The table went silent. All eyes were on me, even those of Gertrude, who normally was content to stay in her own little world.


    I cleared my throat. ¡®Um¡­ Does anybody know a Mr Rikkard Ambrose?¡¯


    Holding my breath, I waited for an answer. If he was nothing but a simple government official, they wouldn¡¯t know of him. But if not, if he was somebody more important, or rich, or powerful¡­


    Maria laughed a high, nervous laugh, somewhere between hysteria and giggling.


    ¡®Oh Lord, Lilly, you¡¯re so funny. Do you honestly mean to tell us you don''t know who Rikkard Ambrose is? I mean, the Rikkard Ambrose?¡¯


    Sweet and Solid


    ¡®No,¡¯ I said, suddenly feeling stupid in comparison to my sister Maria for the very first time in my life. I didn¡¯t like the feeling. ¡®Have you met him?¡¯


    ¡®Met him?¡¯ Now Anne joined Maria¡¯s laughter. It wasn¡¯t considered polite for a lady to laugh at someone, but when they were in the family circle and I was the subject of their mirth, they frequently seemed to forget that rule. ¡®Silly girl! Of course we haven¡¯t met him. No one has been that lucky.¡¯


    I have. And be careful about who you call a silly girl.


    ¡®Then how do you know who he is?¡¯ I asked politely, suppressing the urge to chuck a salt shaker at my sister¡¯s head.


    Maria rolled her eyes as if this should be obvious.


    ¡®We¡¯ve heard the talk, of course. Half of London has been talking about nothing but him for the last three months, ever since he¡¯s returned from the colonies.¡¯


    It must have been the wrong half of London, because I hadn¡¯t heard the talk. I fixed a glare on the twins. They were annoying enough under normal circumstances, but now that they knew something I didn¡¯t, their level of annoyance had passed the point of tolerance.


    ¡®Well, what does the talk say, exactly?¡¯


    The twins exchanged a meaningful glance.


    ¡®That he¡¯s tall,¡¯ giggled Anne.


    ¡®That he has eyes as dark as night,¡¯ said Maria, fluttering her eyelashes.


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t say like the night,¡¯ I mumbled. ¡®More like the sea on an overcast day.¡¯


    They ignored me.


    ¡®That he¡¯s mysterious,¡¯ continued Anne in the same annoying sing-song. ¡®He landed out of the blue a few months ago at the Port of Dover, returned from God only knows where in the biggest ship they¡¯ve ever seen down there, with an army of servants and armed guards, and he started buying up property all over town. Nobody has been able to find out who exactly he is or what he wants, and they haven¡¯t failed for lack of trying. Half of Fleet Street[8] has been after him for weeks, but still nobody knows where he or his fortune came from.¡¯


    Fortune? So he was rich, then. Yes, I could see by the longing sparkle in my sisters'' eyes that he was. Rich and powerful.


    Slowly, I put down my knife. I didn¡¯t feel much like eating, all of a sudden.


    ¡®That he¡¯s secretive and secluded,¡¯ added Maria, the corners of her mouth going down. ¡®He¡¯s practically shut himself up in that place he¡¯s had built in Leadenhall Street - almost never comes to any balls or dinners. And if he does, he acts as if the ladies in the room don¡¯t even exist.¡¯


    The corners of her mouth went down a little farther, and her delicate white hand tightened into a fist. At any other time, I might have enjoyed speculating about the reasons behind this, but right now I was far too busy. On top of half a bowl of porridge, I now had a big lump of information to digest.


    Government official my ass! Mr Rikkard Ambrose was considerably more than an official. Considerably more dangerous. An official had to answer to the government. This man¡­ did he answer to anyone? Again, I remembered how his henchman had hauled off the fat swindler into the mist. For the first time I realized that I had no idea what happened to the fat man. I didn¡¯t even know whether he was still alive.


    And then there was the question of which mysterious methods Mr Rikkard Ambrose had employed to acquire the fortune he apparently possessed. Not by inheriting it from a noble ancestor, apparently, which was the approved method for good, upper-class English gentlemen.


    ¡®Um¡­¡¯ I had to swallow to get rid of the lump in my throat. ¡®You mentioned his wealth. How wealthy is he, exactly?¡¯

 Page 14

    ¡®How wealthy?¡¯ Maria scoffed. ¡®Why, he is only rumoured to be one of the richest men in the entire British Empire. That is all.¡¯


    ¡®Lilly?¡¯ Ella asked suddenly, her voice sounding concerned. ¡®Are you not all right?¡¯


    I clutched the edge of the table with both hands, not knowing how to answer. I wasn¡¯t sure myself. What had I gotten myself into? ¡®I¡­ I feel a little faint,¡¯ I finally mumbled. ¡®That¡¯s all.¡¯


    But that wasn¡¯t all. Definitely not.


    The rest of the meal passed in a blur. I couldn¡¯t force another bite down. I could hardly force myself to remain in my seat. As soon as the others put down their forks and knives, I sprang up and rushed out the door.


    ¡®Lillian,¡¯ I heard my aunt call after me. ¡®Lillian, stay here! You can¡¯t go! It is time for your embroidering lesson.¡¯


    I didn¡¯t listen. The only thing I ever managed to do at embroidering was perforate my fingers, anyway.


    Bounding down the hall, I rushed out through the back door and into the little garden. The small green space welcomed me, its high walls shielding me from all that lay beyond - the bustle and noise of the city, the stench of smoke drifting over from distant factories, and of course¡­ him.


    Quickly, I crawled into a little shady space behind a few bushes and hid. It was a favourite place of mine whenever I wanted to be away from my aunt or be alone with my thoughts. With the gently swaying green brush around me, almost hugging me close, I felt safe and protected from the world for a change. A world that seemed determined to turn me into something I was not and would never be.


    And when I attempt to break free, I thought, this has to happen.


    One of the richest men in the British Empire. Yesterday, I had met, ridiculed and insulted one of the richest men in the British Empire. What was I to do?


    Stay here, said a little frightened voice in the back of my mind. A voice that sounded a bit like Ella. He doesn''t know who you are yet. He¡¯s only seen your face. If you don''t go to meet him, he¡¯ll never find you, and that will be the end of it.


    I bit down on my lip. Exactly. That would be the end of it. The end of my only chance for freedom ever. And I wanted freedom. I wanted the chance to go where I pleased, do what I wished, and not to have to answer to any man for my actions.


    So what was I to do now?


    A lazy morning spent lying on my back and staring at the clouds drifting by hadn¡¯t helped to find an answer to that question. After two hours or so, when my back, still not recovered from being tortured by the police station bunk, began to protest at its treatment from the hard ground, I made myself get up. This wasn¡¯t helping.


    Scrambling out from behind my bushes, I slipped through the little garden gate and set out towards Green Park. I felt as tense as a taut wire, and only relaxed a little when I reached the edge of the park. What I needed now was to get a breather, to clear my head of any thoughts about heavy life-altering decisions by means of good company. Which meant, of course, female company. I could only hope they were where I thought they would be¡­


    ¡®Hey! Lilly!¡¯


    Quickly, I turned towards the voice I had been hoping for.


    That deep bellow was unmistakable! Unlike you would suspect on first hearing it, it didn¡¯t belong to a big, beefy bulldog, but to my best friend Patsy. She and the others already awaited me on the wrought iron park bench under the big oak, the usual meeting place of our little band of wrongdoers.


    ¡®Hello! Here we are!¡¯


    Passing gentlemen looked askance at Patsy, clearly indicating by their looks that ladies weren¡¯t supposed to bellow. They forbore however from making any disapproving remarks, probably because Patsy, with a figure like that of a boxing champion and a face like a horse, cut a pretty impressive figure, even for a girl in a hoop skirt. I certainly wouldn¡¯t have liked to come to blows with her.


    She picked up her parasol and waved it like a victory flag. ¡®Where have you been, Lilly? Get your behind over here!¡¯


    The other two turned around and spotted me, too. Flora smiled shyly, and Eve raised her tiny pink parasol, waving it so energetically one could have mistaken it for a fluttering hummingbird¡¯s wing.


    ¡®Patsy is holding a speech,¡¯ she yelled across the remaining distance. I quickened my step, already feeling better. This would take my mind off other things. ¡®She¡¯s telling us how she will convince all the stinking rich people of London to give up their money for her latest charity.¡¯


    ¡®You could threaten to impale them on your parasol,¡¯ I suggested, settling down on the only free place on the bench and grinning from ear to ear. It was good to see my friends.


    Patsy snorted. ¡®That might be the only way to actually get it done. You wouldn¡¯t believe how tightly some people hold on to their money. Oh wait, I forgot about your uncle. You would believe.¡¯


    ¡®I would,¡¯ I concurred. ¡®So, what is this charity event you¡¯re organizing?¡¯


    Patsy rolled her eyes. ¡®Ask rather how many dozen I¡¯m organizing. One in favour of the workhouses, one in favour of St. Vincent¡¯s Orphanage, one in favour of everything you can think of, and I¡¯ll be lucky if I get more than a few pennies for any of them. But it¡¯s the event in favour of women¡¯s suffrage that has me really worried.¡¯


    ¡®Why?¡¯ I wanted to know. ¡®Aren¡¯t any of the guests likely to give money?¡¯


    A scowl appeared on Patsy¡¯s face, and for a moment she really did look like a Rottweiler. ¡®Hardly. The problem is that there likely won¡¯t be any guests. So far, nobody has accepted my invitation.¡¯


    ¡®Nobody? Honestly?¡¯


    ¡®Honestly. I even got a note back from Lady Metcalf, saying that¡­ how did she put it again? Ah yes, saying ¡°how scandalous¡± it is that I am ¡°trying to erode the pillars of civilization by destroying woman¡¯s natural role in life¡±.¡¯


    I patted her hand.


    ¡®That¡¯s horrible! And after you gave yourself so much trouble in organizing everything. I¡¯m so sorry for you.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t be.¡¯ The scowl on Patsy¡¯s face was replaced by a look of grim satisfaction. ¡®Be sorry for Lady Metcalf. You don''t know what I said in my answering note.¡¯


    I couldn¡¯t prevent a grin from spreading over my face. No, I didn¡¯t know. But I knew Patsy, and could imagine.


    ¡®By the way,¡¯ I asked, ¡®how did the election go? I didn¡¯t catch the results.¡¯

 Page 15

    ¡®How could you not catch them?¡¯ Patsy gave me a strange, sideways look. ¡®It was in all the papers.¡¯


    Well, I was sitting in prison all day, you know. We don''t get papers there.


    That¡¯s what I would like to have said, just to see the look on her face. But I didn¡¯t. My friends didn¡¯t know anything about my little adventure on Friday, and if I could, I wanted to keep it that way. They didn¡¯t need to know what a fool I had made of myself. It had been a crazy idea from the beginning, this whole dressing-up-as-a-man thing, and I just wanted to forget it as quickly as possible. So instead, I said:


    ¡®I¡­ was busy. Very busy.¡¯


    ¡®Well, you didn¡¯t miss anything worth hearing.¡¯ Patsy stabbed at the air with her parasol, as if it were a conservative politician. ¡®You want the result? A landslide victory for the Tories, of course! The Whigs were flattened. So no reforms on women¡¯s suffrage, nor on any other sensible subject by the way!¡¯


    A depressive silence fell over our little group for a while, and the morning, which had seemed cheerful right up until then, suddenly wasn¡¯t quite as enjoyable any more.


    Without warning, Eve clapped her hands together and woke us from mourning over our lost freedom. ¡®Time for a little cheering-up! Look what a treat I¡¯ve brought!¡¯ She fished something out of her pocket and held it out: four brown, rectangular objects. They didn¡¯t look very appetizing.


    ¡®What are those?¡¯ I asked, suspiciously.


    ¡®It¡¯s a new invention, just come on the market,¡¯ Eve trilled excitedly. ¡®It¡¯s chocolate.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t be silly. Chocolate is a drink,¡¯ Patsy objected. ¡®It¡¯s not solid.¡¯


    ¡®Not usually no. But,¡¯ she lowered her voice conspiratorially, ¡®this fellow - Fly or High, I think he¡¯s called - developed a method to make it solid.¡¯[9]


    I carefully tapped against one of the brown objects. It was quite hard. ¡®And it stays that way? A bit hard to swallow, wouldn¡¯t it be?¡¯


    ¡®No, no. It dissolves in your mouth.¡¯


    ¡®Really?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, yes. Well, that¡¯s what it said in the advert, anyway.¡¯


    That didn¡¯t inspire much confidence in me.


    ¡®Why would anyone want to make chocolate solid?¡¯ Patsy demanded. ¡®If it only dissolves again afterwards, what¡¯s the point?¡¯


    ¡®Oh, don''t be such a stick-in-the-mud!¡¯ Eve was almost bouncing with excitement now. ¡®It¡¯s something new, something exciting. People call it a chocolate bar, and they say they¡¯re fantastic! So try them out already, will you? I spent all my pocket money on them!¡¯


    That final argument persuaded me. I knew enough about what it was like not to have much money to understand the sacrifice. Slowly, I took one of the ¡®bars¡¯ of chocolate and carefully deposited it in my mouth. The others followed my example. A tense silence settled over our group as we waited. The bars didn¡¯t explode or attack our teeth, which was a good sign to begin with. On the other hand, they didn¡¯t taste much like anything.


    At least at first.


    Then, the brown stuff suddenly started growing softer and softer, and the taste began to flood my mouth. I started licking and chewing faster and faster.


    ¡®Goodness!¡¯ Flora fanned herself. ¡®That really isn¡¯t fair! To have something that looks so plain and unappetizing, and then have it attack you like that¡­ Dear me. Dear, dear me.¡¯


    ¡®Is it good?¡¯ asked Eve, who still hadn¡¯t put her piece into her mouth, but seemed to be anxiously awaiting our judgement.


    I sighed contentedly. Finally something that made me forget my troubles for a minute or two. I opened my mouth long enough to say: ¡®More than good. It¡¯s¡­ yummy! The best thing I¡¯ve ever tasted. The fellow who invented it, has he been knighted yet?¡¯


    ¡®I don''t believe so.¡¯


    ¡®Just one more sign that there¡¯s no justice in this country,¡¯ I groaned, and Patsy as well as Flora nodded their consent, chewing energetically.


    ¡®So we have one more thing on our to-do list,¡¯ laughed Patsy, in her deep, throaty horse-laugh. ¡®Achieve women¡¯s suffrage and get the inventor of solid chocolate bars knighted for his achievements.¡¯ Suddenly despondent, she shook her head. ¡®Sometimes I just despair and think that women will never have equal rights with men in this lousy excuse for a country,¡¯ she sighed. ¡®We might as well forget about campaigning for women¡¯s suffrage and just start dressing up in men¡¯s clothes for the next election.¡¯


    I coughed, and almost choked on my chocolate bar. Luckily, the others were too busy with eating to notice, and I quickly forced it down.


    Eve cleared her throat and winked at her large friend. ¡®Not to put too fine a point on it, Patsy¡­ That might work for you, but I doubt the rest of us could pull it off.¡¯


    Patsy pounded the ground with her parasol. ¡®And why I and not the rest of you, Eve?¡¯


    ¡®Because, my dear Patsy, you have a nose like a lumpy potato and enough bone in your chin for three good men. If we put you in a suit, everybody would bow to you and call you Sir.¡¯


    ¡®Do you want a parasol hammered on your head, Eve?¡¯


    ¡®Not particularly, no.¡¯


    ¡®Then I suggest you quickly take yourself out of my reach.¡¯


    Eve sprang up laughing, snatched up a bird and racket I hadn¡¯t seen before and gaily ran off into the Park, dancing around, hitting the bird, catching it with the racket and hitting it skywards again. She missed as often as she hit, but that didn¡¯t seem to bother her.


    ¡®I don''t think I could do it,¡¯ Flora offered shyly. ¡®Dressing up as a man, I mean. You could, Patsy, but not I.¡¯


    ¡®Of course you could, Flora!¡¯ Patsy gave her a hearty slap on the back that almost catapulted the little girl off the bench. ¡®Come, Lilly, back me up! Everybody could do it, couldn¡¯t they?¡¯


    I contemplated the question carefully for a moment. ¡®No,¡¯ I said, finally, shaking my head. ¡®I think I would end up getting thrown in prison and landing myself in all sorts of troubles I hadn¡¯t counted on.¡¯


    My friends and I continued to sit long after that on the little bench under the oak and discussed politics, fashion, and the folly of men. But I had to admit that once the soothing effects of the wondrous solid chocolate waned, Mr Ambrose intruded more and more often on my thoughts.

 Page 16

    Patsy kept shooting suspicious glances in my direction. Of our unofficial little secret society for women¡¯s suffrage, she was certainly the most observant one, Eve being too hyper and Flora too shy to remark anything. Patsy noticed my altered behaviour: how I sometimes stared into the air without seeing anything, how I crossed my arms more often than usual as if about to confront an invisible enemy. I¡¯m sure she would have said something if the other two hadn¡¯t been there. So I made sure I was the first to leave, excusing myself on account of having to help my aunt with supper. If she wanted to find something out, Patsy could be determined as an Ascot race horse[10], and I didn¡¯t want to get trampled underfoot.


    I didn¡¯t go home immediately, though. My beloved aunt wouldn¡¯t appreciate any help in preparing a meal she considered far too simple for such a good family as hers. Instead, I went around the little clump of trees in Green Park to a small pond, and fed the ducks for a few minutes. They seemed to appreciate the pieces of dry bread I threw them very much, and it soothed my nerves. Although I felt miserable right now, it was good to know that at least I could make somebody else happy, even if it was only some silly, feathery little beast. The last piece of bread landed in the pond with a soft ¡®plop¡¯. I turned and started towards home.


    The rest of the day flew by in a whirl of disjointed images. It seemed to take no time at all until I stared at the candle on my nightstand. Around the lone candle flame there was darkness. I was lying in my bed, listening to Ella¡¯s steady breathing in the other bed across the room and staring into the flame so hard it almost hurt my eyes.


    This is it, I thought. If I blow out this candle, the day will be over and there will be only one day left before Monday. One day before I have to face him or forget my dream of freedom.


    What would I do?


    More importantly: What would he do if I did the wrong thing?


    He was no jolly fat bobby who would laugh the whole thing off. He might do anything, and a man with his position and power actually could do just about anything he wanted - to me and to my family. Getting me arrested for disturbing the King¡¯s Peace, ruining my uncle¡¯s business¡­ the possibilities were chilling, and not unlikely to come to pass. I remembered every cold, hard line, of his face. Mr Ambrose definitely didn¡¯t look like the kind of man who appreciated being made to look like a fool.


    But this was my only chance! The only chance I would ever get to be free.


    For the first time in my life I was afraid of the dark. But I screwed up all my courage, leant forward and blew out the candle.


    The next day was even worse. In church, I didn¡¯t hear above one word in ten of what the reverend was saying. I tried not to look at him too much because I knew of whom a tall black figure with a stern expression would remind me - only Reverend Dalton wasn¡¯t half as good-looking as¡­ he.


    What did I do once I got home?


    I honestly couldn¡¯t say. Maybe I actually went through one of my aunt¡¯s embroidering lessons for once. Ella was starting to look worried whenever she glanced my way. I would have liked to reassure her, tell her that everything was all right, but it would have been a more blatant lie than even I was capable of.


    Evening came, and then the night. I lay in my bed again, staring at the candle and wondering whether to blow it out or not.


    If I did, that was it. No more time to think or evade. It would be Monday, my first day at ¡®work¡¯. Or in prison, if he put his mind to it. What was he going to do to me?


    I crossed my arms and rolled myself up into a tight, protective ball. Why oh why did things have to be so difficult? Why couldn¡¯t I have a job and my independence without having to fear retribution from one of the most powerful men in the British Empire?


    Maybe, if I didn¡¯t blow out the candle, I wouldn¡¯t fall asleep and tomorrow would never come. Yes, that sounded like a good plan!


    I lay there, gazing up at my protection, the candle, and wishing fervently that tomorrow would never arrive.


    Suddenly, a gust of wind from the open window ruffled the curtains and blew out the candle, plunging me into darkness.


    Not fair!


    Empire House


    I awoke and thought: Oh God, please don''t let it be Monday.


    Beside me, in the other bed, Ella yawned and stretched, looking first out of the open window, through which bright, golden sunlight streamed into the room, then turning to beam at me. ¡®What a beautiful Monday morning!¡¯


    Thank you very much, God.


    Faced by the inescapable fact that Judgement Day was upon me, I simply lay there for a while, contemplating my doom. Ella, however, didn¡¯t seem to be aware of the fact that her sister was about to face a masculine monster from the pit. She was already up and dressing herself, humming a merry tune.


    ¡®Come on, Lill,¡¯ she said, calling me by my nickname she only used when nobody else was around. ¡®Get out of bed. It¡¯s already eight thirty.¡¯


    So what, I wanted to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. Eight thirty? In my mind I heard Mr Ambrose¡¯s cool voice echoing: Be at my office, nine sharp Monday morning.


    ¡®Eight thirty?¡¯ I choked.


    ¡®Yes, why?¡¯


    Not daring to waste time with an answer, I jumped out of bed, struggled out of my nightdress, and hurriedly started throwing on the dozens of petticoats that we poor females had to stuff under our dresses.


    ¡®What¡¯s the matter?¡¯ cried Ella, alarmed.


    ¡®I have to be somewhere at nine!¡¯ My own voice was slightly muffled because I was trying to force my way through three petticoats at once.


    ¡®Where?¡¯


    ¡®Can¡¯t tell you. But it¡¯s frightfully important. Please, Ella, help me with these infernal things? I think I¡¯m stuck!¡¯


    ¡®Here, let me.¡¯ Ella, ever the helpful spirit, didn¡¯t even think of questioning me. Instead she untangled the knotted mess of petticoats I had been trying to ram my head through, and then handed me my dress.


    ¡®Not that one,¡¯ I said, shaking my head at my favourite, simple, gown. ¡®The other one.¡¯


    Now even Ella¡¯s curiosity was roused. She handed me the fancier of my two dresses, the one with lace trimmings she knew I hated wearing. When I had slipped into it, I rushed to the mirror and started untangling my hair. ¡®How do I look? Well? What do you think? Am I presentable?¡¯


    Ella stood behind me, watching something that was rarer than a volcano eruption in Chiswick: me, trying to make myself look stylish. In the mirror I could see her mouth open in a silent ¡®Oh¡¯ and a blush suffuse her cheeks.

 Page 17

    ¡®Oh, Lill!¡¯ She clapped her hands together, a sudden smile spreading over her face. ¡®You have a rendezvous, haven¡¯t you? A rendezvous with a young man!¡¯


    My jaw dropped, and I whirled around.


    ¡®No! Of course not!¡¯


    Ella didn¡¯t seem to have heard me. Quickly, she stepped to my side, that silly, secretive, girly smile still plastered on her face. Her hands came up, starting to style my hair and smooth my dress at a pace I would never have been capable of. It was as if she had ten arms. ¡®It¡¯s all right,¡¯ she giggled. ¡®I won¡¯t tell. Is he nice? Is he handsome?¡¯


    Yes he is. Very.


    I pushed the thought out of my mind as soon as it appeared. It wasn¡¯t like that! I wasn¡¯t going to meet a man. Well, in a sense I was, but not ¡®meeting¡¯ as in meeting to do¡­ well, to do whatever romantic couples get up to when they¡¯re alone. Why did every female¡¯s brain on earth, including that of my little sister, turn to mushy-gushy mushrooms the moment a man was mentioned? There were many legitimate reasons for a girl to meet a man, reasons that had nothing whatsoever to do with mating behaviour, such as¡­ such as¡­


    Well, maybe I couldn¡¯t think of anything just now, but you see my point.


    ¡®Oh Lill, come on. Tell me at least what colour his eyes are, will you?¡¯


    I stomped my foot and crossed my arms. Ella more or less ignored my signs of protest and continued to work her magic on my hair.


    ¡®I said no, didn¡¯t I? I¡¯m not going to a rendezvous, Ella!¡¯


    She just giggled again, and then winked. My dear, demure, innocent little sister, winking? And if my eyes didn¡¯t betray me, even conspiratorially!


    ¡®I quite understand,¡¯ she whispered. ¡®You have to be discreet.¡¯


    Why was I even bothering to correct her? It would be good if she came up with her own explanation and I wouldn¡¯t have to engage in inventive truth-modification again to spare her concern. But the thought simply drove me insane: I was going to meet Mr Rikkard Ambrose, and all the while my little sister would be sitting at home thinking that he and I were¡­


    I shook my head. This was no time for mushy-gushy irrationality. My interest in Mr Ambrose was purely professional, and it didn¡¯t matter what anybody else thought. Did it?


    No doubt motivated by her concern for the welfare of my pining, love-struck heart, Ella finished my hair in record time. I took about two seconds to admire myself in the mirror - really, Ella had managed to make quite a presentable lady out of her raw material - and then rushed towards the door. Over my shoulder, I threw my little sister a grateful grin. ¡®I¡¯ll owe you forever for this! Thanks!¡¯


    ¡®You are most welcome,¡¯ she said, winking again. It was definitely conspiratorial this time.


    Dear God, had the world gone mad?


    I rushed down the stairs, past a bewildered aunt and out the door before she could shriek her protest. How much time was left until nine? Not enough, probably. I was just about to start sprinting off in the direction of Leadenhall Street when I spotted a cab, just driving by on the other side of the street. Huzzah![11] My life was saved!


    ¡®Cabbie!¡¯ I waved my parasol like a castaway signalling the rescue ship.


    With a ¡®Ho there!¡¯ the cabbie stopped his horses and peered at me curiously. I clambered into the cab before he could even think of jumping down to help me inside, and whacked my parasol against the roof.


    ¡®Leadenhall Street, cabbie, number 322. I have to be there before nine.¡¯


    The name of the famous street, full to the brim with business and money, acted like an electrical shock on the poor man. Up until then he had been looking sleepy and not too pleased by his new passenger, but when I said that name, his eyes flew wide open and he cracked the whip.


    ¡®Gee up!¡¯[12]


    The cab lurched forward and I was thrown back into the seat. Fiercely, I clung to the upholstery as we raced over the cobblestones. The uneven paving almost knocked my teeth out at the speed we were driving. We were lucky that there wasn¡¯t much traffic on the streets, or this insane tempo would have been plain suicide.


    Outside the window, the buildings rushed by in a confused blur. I couldn¡¯t see much of them, but I did notice that, after a few minutes, the reddish-brown colour of brick buildings was replaced by the fancier colours of painted walls, which in turn were replaced by the gleaming white of marble. We had left the middle-class districts of London and were fast approaching the centre of the unrivalled power and wealth of the British Empire.


    Anxiously, I listened for the sound of Great Paul, the bell of St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral, announcing the full hour. I had no idea if I still had twenty or only two minutes left till my appointment. If I only had a watch, then I would know! But apart from being expensive, watches were also only intended for gentlemen. As if girls didn¡¯t need to know the time of day!


    ¡®Hold tight, Miss!¡¯ the cabbie called, and I tightened my grip on the seat just in time. We swerved around a corner and I was almost thrown sideways onto the seat, but managed to right myself in time to see the black and white painted sign rush past the open window:


    Leadenhall Street


    Thank the Lord. Or maybe I shouldn¡¯t be too quick to thank him. That would rather depend on what would happen to me now¡­


    ¡®322, you said?¡¯ the cabbie called.


    ¡®Y-yes!¡¯


    Abruptly, the cabbie pulled on the brakes and I was flung forward, just managing to catch myself in time to prevent my nose from being bashed in. Panting, I sat there in the coach and tried to recover my equilibrium. Outside, the cabbie jumped down and opened the door for me. Ordinarily I would have protested at such a display of male chauvinism, but right now my legs didn¡¯t feel like protesting. With shaky steps, I climbed out and even accepted the cabbie¡¯s hand, which he offered to help me down.


    ¡®Here.¡¯


    I handed the man my pocket money of about half a year - thanks to my generous uncle just enough to pay the fare - and looked up and down the street. I didn¡¯t see number 322 anywhere. Hmm¡­ What could the office of Mr Rikkard Ambrose look like? The likeliest candidate for the headquarters of a man of his wealth was a building right across from me, with a broad, showy fa?ade and more pillars and scrollwork than on most royal palaces.


    The cabbie had followed my gaze. ¡®Which one is number 322?¡¯ I asked. ¡®That one?¡¯


    He shook his head emphatically. ¡®Oh no, Miss. That¡¯s India House, the headquarters of the East India Company. Number 322, Empire House, is right opposite. Behind the cab.¡¯

 Page 18

    Oh. I turned and with apprehensive steps circumvented the cab.


    Slowly, as the black-painted wood of the vehicle blocked less and less of my field of vision, something gigantic and steel-grey came into my sight, and I knew immediately: this was it. This was the office of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.


    It was built in neo-classical style like India House. That attribute, however, was just about all the two buildings had in common.


    Empire House was not broad. Not ostentatious. Not richly adorned. It was the highest building in the street, stacking levels of offices upon offices in the narrowest space possible, and by doing so towered over the flatter, broader houses. Its fa?ade was not marble, but austere dark grey stone and cast iron. The portico, normally the pride of every building with dozens of pillars, was hardly fit to be called a portico. There were only two pillars supporting the projecting roof - but what pillars they were: grey giants that seemed to threaten everybody who approached them.


    Grey giants under which I had to pass.


    ¡®Looks impressive, don''t it?¡¯


    I jumped. The cabbie was standing right behind me.


    ¡®W-what does?¡¯ I asked, trying to make my voice sound steady. It didn¡¯t really work.


    The cabbie took a critical look at my face, which for once I¡¯m sure, in spite of my tan, was fashionably pale according to the beauty-standards of English society.


    ¡®Sure you want me to drop you off ''ere, Miss?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, yes, of course. Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡¯


    ¡®Just saying.¡¯ He shrugged and hauled himself onto the cab¡¯s box again. Once more, he looked back. ¡®Quite sure? The gentleman who lives ''ere is supposed to be¡­¡¯


    For some reason he didn¡¯t finish the sentence, but glanced up at Empire House, and suddenly cut off.


    ¡®Yes, I¡¯m quite sure. Thank you.¡¯ I nodded to him once more, and tried to give him my best imitation of a smile.


    He just shrugged.


    ¡®It ain¡¯t none of my business. Good luck.¡¯


    With that, he cracked his whip and drove off, maybe a bit faster than was strictly necessary. I stared after him for a moment - then I remembered: I was running out of time. Quickly shaking off my paralysis, I turned and strode across the street.


    Halfway across, the shadows of the great pillars enveloped me like giant bat wings. I couldn¡¯t help shuddering as I climbed the steep steps to the big oak front door. There was no doorman, which was a bit unusual for a building belonging to one of the world¡¯s most wealthy men, but which strangely fit the austere nature of the building and its owner. I was actually relieved - I wasn¡¯t entirely sure a doorman would have let me in. Yet deep inside I was also disappointed. A disapproving doorman might have been an excuse to turn around and go home.


    Now I had no choice. No reason to excuse cowardice. I had to try. I owed it to myself.


    Cautiously, I grabbed the large brass doorknob and pushed.


    The door swung open, and I waited for the smoke of cigarettes to assault me as it had in all buildings ruled by men. Yet there was nothing but a draft of cool, clean air. Taking a deep breath, I entered and let the door fall shut behind me.


    Inside it was dark. The sun hadn¡¯t risen above the houses of London yet, so only a little light fell through the high, narrow windows. What light there was, though, was sufficient to illuminate the scene in front of me well enough to make my throat constrict.


    I was standing at the entrance to an enormous hall, at least seventy feet across. Apart from the gigantic cast iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the galleries high up on the walls, there was no decoration of any kind. No portraits, no draperies, nothing. The floor was dark, polished stone; the walls were painted a dark green-blue. In any other place the lack of decoration might have made one think the owner of the building was poor, but not here. The very enormity of this stark cavern repudiated poverty. And besides, it didn¡¯t take me long to realize the true reason behind the sparse decoration. I had lived too long with my dear uncle and aunt not to recognize the signs that somebody kept his purse up his arse.


    Throughout the hall, people were jogging from one of the many doors to another, carrying pieces of paper, and obviously in a very great hurry to get their business done. The only person who wasn¡¯t moving an inch was a sallow-faced old man behind a plain wood counter at the back of the giant room. He simply sat, bent over a book in which he was busy scribbling notes.


    Was he the receptionist? Well, there was only one way to find out.


    I approached the counter and cleared my throat timidly. The man didn¡¯t seem to notice and continued writing in his book.


    I cleared my throat again, louder this time, and crossed my arms. This fellow was getting my hackles up!


    He finally deigned to look up and examined me over the tops of his small, steel-rimmed spectacles. The face he pulled made me think he wasn¡¯t very pleased with what he saw.


    ¡®Yes?¡¯


    This was it. Last chance to back out. Last chance to leave this place and never come back.


    With great effort, I gathered all my courage and said, loudly and clearly: ¡®I¡¯m here to see Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    I couldn¡¯t have gotten a more impressive reaction if I had said ¡®I¡¯m here to see Father Christmas do a naked tap dance on your desk.¡¯ Everybody within hearing range stopped to turn towards me. One young clerk fell over his own feet and only just managed not to drop the large pile of papers he was carrying.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose?¡¯ asked Sallow-face incredulously. ¡®Mr Rikkard Ambrose?¡¯


    ¡®Is there another one here?¡¯


    ¡®Most assuredly not, Miss¡­?¡¯


    ¡®Linton. Miss Lillian Linton.¡¯


    ¡®Well, Miss Linton,¡¯ said Sallow-face, steepling his long fingers in a manner that I¡¯m sure he meant to be threatening, ¡®Mr Ambrose is a very busy man. He does not have time for everybody who wishes to waste it.¡¯ He looked down at his book again. ¡®If you have come collecting for charity, try Lord Arlington¡¯s place, or Lady Metcalf''s. I am sure they shall be more than happy to oblige you.¡¯


    ¡®I have not come to collect for charity,¡¯ I said. ¡®I have an appointment.¡¯


    This time, somebody actually did drop his documents. I heard the clatter behind, me, and the hurried noises of someone running after flying bits of paper. Sallow-face had no eyes for the miscreant, however. His full attention was on me once more, sizing me up, and down, and up again.

 Page 19

    ¡®You have an appointment, Miss¡­?¡¯


    ¡®Linton. Yes.¡¯


    ¡®With whom, if I may ask?¡¯


    ¡®With Mr Ambrose, of course. I already told you I came here to see him. I was told to be here at nine.¡¯


    Sallow-face¡¯s eyes bored into me, as if he was trying to see a note with the words ''April fool¡¯s joke'' attached to the back of my head, although it was the middle of summer. ¡®Told by whom?¡¯ he demanded.


    ¡®By Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    For the first time, I could see a tiny little bit of uncertainty replace some of the sallowness. Mixed into it was a spark of fear. ¡®By Mr Ambrose himself? Personally?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®Wait a moment, please.¡¯


    I was expecting him to jump up and run off, emulating all the other people hurrying around the entrance hall, but instead he remained sitting where he was and picked up a strange metal horn from his desk, which I hadn¡¯t noticed before. It was connected to the desk by a thick tube that vanished into the wood.


    ¡®Stone? Stone, are you there?¡¯ Sallow-face spoke into the metal horn.


    I stared at him, stupefied. Had he lost his marbles? Did he think this metal thing was a stone? And if so, why was he talking to it? As far as I knew, neither stones nor metal objects were very verbose.


    The man held the horn to his ear - and a faint, tinny voice came out of it! My mouth dropped open. What was this? I couldn¡¯t hear what the voice said, but it was unquestionably human. He was talking to someone through that thing!


    Sallow-face returned the horn from his ear to his mouth and said: ¡®Listen, Stone. There is a young¡­ lady here,¡¯ he threw me a look that made it clear he privately had other names for me, ¡®who maintains she has an appointment with Mr Ambrose. Can you check that for me please? Go to Simmons and ask, will you.¡¯


    A moment of silence. Then the faint tinny voice started talking again.


    ¡®What?¡¯ Sallow-face demanded. ¡®Not there? What do you mean not¡­ Oh, quit his job? I see.¡¯


    A thrill went through me, and suddenly I forgot all about the strange listening-horn. Quit his job? They had to be talking about the secretary! The secretary who had left. Had they wanted to check whether I really did have an appointment? That must have been it! So they were actually considering letting me up there. For a moment, I wondered whether I should mention that I was the ex-secretary¡¯s replacement. Then I remembered that I was a lady, and ladies didn¡¯t work for a living, and if I claimed such a thing, Sallow-face would throw me out for sure.


    ¡®Yes, yes,¡¯ he snapped at that very moment. ¡®But what am I to do? If she really has an appointment and I don''t let her through, I¡¯ll be out on the street tomorrow morning. Yes? So what? What do I care? I say she can go through, so she¡¯s your problem now.¡¯


    Sallow-face put down the horn from which protesting shrieks were echoing and turned to me with a syrupy smile on his lips.


    ¡®Very well, Miss Linton. You can go up to the top floor inquiry desk. Mr Stone is already awaiting you there and anxious to help you.¡¯


    Oh, Mister Stone, not a stone. So Sallow-face wasn¡¯t barmy. Quite a relief, considering I got my directions from him. He pointed me to an open doorway behind his desk. I thanked him more graciously than he deserved, curtsied, and went through the doorway to find myself in a large hallway. Looking up, I saw steps leading up and around the walls of several floors, and these stairs were even steeper than the ones outside the building.


    Dong¡­


    Quickly, I turned my head westwards. There, a small window stood half open, letting a bit of light fall into the stark stone hallway. And through that window there now also came the sound of a bell. A deep, reverberating sound that chilled my bones. Great Paul was striking nine!


    Dong¡­


    I jumped over the first two steps, landing on the third and started to race up the stairs taking two at a time. Even so, I had hardly put half a dozen steps behind me when the clock struck again.


    Dong¡­


    I redoubled my efforts. I would not stop. I would not give up. And I would certainly not give that man any excuse not to take me on. I would make it in time!


    Dong¡­


    On the first landing I had to stop, or my heart would have burst. My legs already burned like hellfire, and my behind seemed to have an elephant attached to it. Blast it! So much for my resilience. I really needed to get more exercise!


    Dong¡­


    I reached the second landing. The noise of feet scurrying around and paper rustling that filled the hall downstairs was receding. Even over the reverberations of the bell I could hear that up here it was much quieter. Ominously quiet. My feet resounded hollowly on the steps. Third floor. Yes!


    Dong¡­


    I had just reached the fourth landing when a burst of sunlight suddenly blinded me and made me falter. I was high up now, up over the rooftops of all the surrounding houses. The cold morning sunlight penetrated the mist that was swirling around the building and streamed in through one of the narrow windows, illuminating the entire upper hallway in bright colours of gold. Quickly, I resumed my sprint up the stairs. No distractions now! The fifth landing! Onward! Once more unto the breach!


    Dong¡­


    The fifth landing. How many floors did this darn building have? I chanced a glance upwards and nearly fell over my feet. Grabbing the railing for support, I pulled myself onto the sixth landing, wheezing with the effort. But I had seen what I needed to see. Only two more floors left!


    Dong¡­


    The sixth landing! Nearly there. How many strikes of the clock were still left to me? I quickly counted in my head. Oh no, just one!


    Dong¡­


    Clutching my aching chest I stumbled onto the top landing and grabbed wildly at the air to find anything to support me. My hand caught a brass doorknob and clasped it, involuntary pushing the door open.


    I had made it!


    Unable to stop, I practically fell into the room beyond. I only came to a stop several fumbling steps later, falling to my knees, gasping, in front of a dark wood desk, behind which sat a narrow-faced young man who seemed rather surprised to find a young woman on the carpet before him.


    ¡®Err¡­ Miss?¡¯ he said, tentatively.


    I tried to speak, but my vocal cords didn¡¯t work quite right yet. My lungs were still too busy utilizing my throat for air supply after my sprint up seven flights of stairs. I stared at the carpet on which I was kneeling, trying to find the energy to raise my head. It was a dark carpet, with simple and rather austere geometric patterns. Somebody really should hire an interior decorator here.

 Page 20

    Get a grip, I told myself, and clambered to my feet.


    Looking around, I saw that I was standing in a longish room, almost a corridor, with doors leading off at regular intervals to the sides. At the very end of the room was a large double door of dark wood. Between me and the door stood only the desk, and behind the desk sat the anxious, narrow-faced young man.


    This had to be Mr Stone.


    ¡®I¡¯m here to see Mr Ambrose,¡¯ I panted with as much dignity as one can muster while gasping for air. Quickly I tried to smooth out the wrinkles in my dress, but they resisted stubbornly.


    ¡®Are you¡­?¡¯ he left the sentence hanging in the air as if afraid to finish it.


    ¡®I¡¯m Miss Lillian Linton.¡¯


    ¡®Ah, yes.¡¯ Mr Stone nodded. ¡®I was told you would be coming.¡¯ He threw a furtive look back at the double door. ¡®And you really have to see Mr Ambrose, Miss?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®And you have an appointment?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®Very well.¡¯


    Swallowing, Mr Stone picked up one of those horn-speak-through thingies from his desk and placed it at his mouth.


    ¡®Um¡­ Sir? I¡¯m sorry to disturb you, Mr Ambrose, Sir, but there is someone to see you. A Miss Lillian Linton.¡¯


    He put the horn to his ear for a few seconds, listening, then frowned and looked up at me apologetically. ¡®Err¡­ Miss? Mr Ambrose says he does not know a Miss Linton.¡¯


    I gave him my very sweetest smile - sweeter than solid chocolate. ¡®Tell him we met last Friday in the street. I¡¯m sure he will remember.¡¯


    ¡®Of course, Miss.¡¯ Mr Stone cleared his throat and nodded, dutifully. He was really a very nice, accommodating young man. ¡®Mr Ambrose? The young lady says¡­¡¯


    He repeated my message. For a second or two, everything was still and silent - then Mr Stone jerked the listening-horn away from his ear. I could faintly hear someone shouting on the other end and caught a string of expletives.


    ¡®Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.¡¯ Mr Stone had gone as white as a sheet and was speaking hurriedly into the horn. ¡®Certainly, Mr Ambrose, Sir. What should I tell the young lady, Mr Ambrose, Sir?¡¯


    The answer came over the line, and Mr Stone¡¯s eyes widened, his face turning beet red.


    ¡®But Sir! I¡­ I cannot tell her to go and do¡­ that! No, not a respectable young lady!¡¯


    The shouting on the other end resumed, probably on the subject of my alleged respectability. It seemed that Mr Ambrose had quite a lot to say about that, and none of it was complimentary.


    ¡®Well, what then, Mr Ambrose, Sir?¡¯ asked the young man timidly. He waited again, then nodded when the answer came. ¡®Yes, Sir. Immediately, Sir.¡¯


    Mr Stone looked up at me, his ears still red.


    ¡®Err¡­ Mr Ambrose wishes to see you at once, Miss Linton.¡¯


    I bet he does, I thought, but said nothing and instead merely smiled at the young desk clerk again. He was really quite nice - for a man.


    Mr Stone rose, and, leading me past his desk, guided me to the large double-door that was, as I now realized, the entrance to the private office of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.


    Just before the door he stopped, leaned over and whispered. ¡®Err¡­ Miss? Be careful, yes? Mr Ambrose is very¡­ um¡­ well, just be careful.¡¯


    With that elucidating statement, he held the door open for me, and I entered, my heart hammering, knowing that the future course of my life might well depend on the man inside. Now why didn¡¯t that make me feel very good?


    His Indecent Demands


    As the doors closed behind me, my eyes were drawn immediately to the dark figure standing in front of the window at the opposite end of the room. Heavy curtains half covered the large windows even this early in the morning, and the lean figure of the man was cast in shadows. I could not see his face. But I could feel his eyes on me.


    Quickly, I glanced around. No landscapes on the wall. No tapestries. Not even a portrait of dear X with his wife Y their three large, hairy dogs. God, did this man have an allergy to decoration? Maybe I should have chosen the simpler of my dresses for this meeting after all. To my left, massive wooden bookshelves covered one wall, but the rest of the walls weren¡¯t panelled wood as was customary in most offices. They weren¡¯t even painted, but consisted of the same dark stone as the outside of the building.


    Yes, I had diagnosed the decoration allergy correctly. And I didn¡¯t even have a medical degree.


    My eyes returned to the man at the window. Suddenly, he moved and sat down at the large wooden desk that, besides the bookshelves, was pretty much the only piece of furniture in the room. Light from the window fell onto his face and illuminated the hard, chiselled features of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Again it struck me that, for a man, he didn¡¯t look half bad - maybe not even a quarter. For some reason, my heart rate picked up as I looked at him.


    ¡®Welcome,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said in a cool voice. ¡®Kind of you to drop by. Take a seat.¡¯


    My mouth dropped open. I had expected him to be angry. Boiling mad, even. But there he was, as cool as a cucumber.


    Hesitantly I went to the visitor¡¯s chair opposite his own. As soon as I had sat down, I regretted it. The thing was made of plain, hard wood and almost hurt to sit on. I straightened my back and it got a little better.


    With agonizing slowness, Mr Rikkard Ambrose rested his elbows on the desk in front of him and steepled his fingers. Over the tops of his finely manicured hands, he regarded me with those dark, sea-coloured eyes of his. Dark eyes in which I could see something roil.


    ¡®Well?¡¯ he said, after two or three seconds of silence. ¡®I believe I already told you that I do not appreciate time-wasters, Miss¡­ Linton, was it?¡¯


    I nodded.


    ¡®So what do you want?¡¯


    I swallowed, and said nothing. God, how to phrase this?


    He regarded me coolly for a few more moments, then added: ¡®If you are concerned about me pressing charges against you, do not worry. I have no desire to ruin a lady¡¯s reputation, especially the reputation of a ¡°lady¡± who is not right in the head.¡¯ He looked down at his desk and studied a few papers lying there. ¡®If that is all, Miss Linton¡­¡¯


    The dismissal was obvious in his tone of voice. But I didn¡¯t pay attention. I was still too busy processing the ¡®not-right-in-the-head¡¯ comment. Not right in the head? Why? Because I put on a pair of trousers? Because I wanted a say in the government of my country?

 Page 21

    I¡¯ll give him not right in the head!


    ¡®Actually, no,¡¯ I blurted out, my voice coming out sharper than I had intended. ¡®That wasn¡¯t why I came. I came because you requested it. I came to take up the position of your private secretary.¡¯


    His eyes, having perused line after line of whatever document lay before him, froze. Then they snapped up to me. His face seemed not quite as expressionless as before. Silence hovered over the two of us, thick and heavy.


    Finally he said: ¡®But you are a girl.¡¯


    I bowed my head in what I hoped would be a demure manner. But it probably looked more sarcastic than demure.


    ¡®How kind of you to notice, Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    His gaze travelled up and down my figure, taking in the hoop skirt, my styled hair and various parts of my anatomy pushed into the right place by my corset.


    ¡®Not so very kind. The fact is rather hard to overlook.¡¯


    ¡®You were not so observant the last time we met!¡¯


    He narrowed his eyes about a millimetre. ¡®The last time we met, you had taken great pains to disguise yourself, if I remember, in a manner some might call infamous and outrageous.¡¯


    I narrowed my eyes more than just a millimetre and crossed my arms defiantly.


    ¡®I was wearing trousers! Why is that infamous? They¡¯re just a piece of cloth and don''t make me any less of a girl. If you went around dressed in a ball gown, would that make you any less of a man?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve never yet made the experiment, Miss Linton,¡¯ he replied, frostily.


    A mental image popped into my head of Mr Cold Masculinity Ambrose in a frilly off-the-shoulders ball gown with a big hoop skirt and a paper fan in his hand. I had to work hard to keep from laughing. His tone told me that that wouldn¡¯t have been a good idea. He didn¡¯t seem to be a person who appreciated mirth, to put it mildly.


    So instead of laughing at him, I did the next best thing. I fixed him with a determined look and said: ¡®We¡¯re wandering from the subject. I didn¡¯t come here to talk to you about fashion. I came to work.¡¯


    Shaking his head derisively, he asked: ¡®So you persist in this ludicrous claim that you want to work as my secretary?¡¯


    ¡®I do, and it isn¡¯t ludicrous. When can I take up my new duties?¡¯


    ¡®You can¡¯t.¡¯


    ¡®Why not?¡¯


    ¡®Because I will most certainly not give you the position.¡¯


    ¡®Why not?¡¯


    ¡®I do not have to explain myself to you, Miss Linton.¡¯


    Panic started to well up inside me, and I did my best to push it back down. This was what I had feared. He wouldn¡¯t even consider taking me on. He would throw me out. Now I had only one last chance. It all depended on one question now: was Mr Rikkard Ambrose a gentleman, or only a man?


    ¡®You offered me the position,¡¯ I said in a soft voice. ¡®Do you break your word so easily, Sir?¡¯


    Anger flashed in his eyes, and I could see it: the wounded honour of a gentleman. Yes! I had him!


    ¡®You dare impugn my honour, Miss?¡¯ he demanded, his voice deadly quiet. I knew that had I been a man, he would have flung his glove at me, and I would have had to meet him the next day for a bloody satisfaction. But I was not a man, and he was trapped. The only thing he could do was break his word - or honour it.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ I answered, breathless. ¡®If you do not keep your word, I do.¡¯


    ¡®My word would not be broken,¡¯ he said, in that quiet voice that sent a shiver down my back. ¡®You deceived me.¡¯


    ¡®How so?¡¯ My crossed arms tightened in front of my chest. This was going to be a heavy battle.


    ¡®I hired you under the misapprehension that you were a man.¡¯


    ¡®I never said I was. In fact, I specifically told you that I wasn¡¯t the man for the job.¡¯


    He seemed stunned for just a moment. Then, taking in a deep breath, he admitted: ¡®So you did. Still, you can¡¯t have the position.¡¯


    ¡®Why? Has the position already been filled?¡¯


    He hesitated for a second, then said in a slightly grudging voice: ¡®No.¡¯


    ¡®Has anyone better qualified than I applied?¡¯


    ¡®Anyone would be better than you.¡¯


    My face hardened. ¡®How so?¡¯


    He placed his hands on the desktop, as if trying to suck up calm from the even surface.


    ¡®A girl working as a secretary?¡¯ he growled. ¡®It is impossible! If the city were to get wind of this it would be the biggest scandal in years! Besides, females do not have the orderly mind that is required for this kind of work.¡¯


    ¡®Of course they do! We have been kept down for centuries, but you¡¯ll see, one day women will conquer their rightful place in the world! One day, there will be hundreds, maybe thousands of women working as secretaries. We will be so good at it that we will put the men out of their jobs, and just about every secretary will be female!¡¯


    He shook his head derisively.


    ¡®That speech only shows that you have no intellect and grasp of reality. Thousands of women working as secretaries all over the world? The thought is ridiculous.¡¯


    ¡®All I want is the chance to prove you wrong.¡¯


    ¡®And I said no. You are a girl. I cannot have a girl in my office. I would be the laughing stock of the city of London, of the entire country even.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m sure the city and country will find funnier things to laugh about than you,¡¯ I said, regarding his stony face, not able to entirely keep the sarcasm out of my voice.


    He gave me a stare from those cold, dark eyes that could have frozen lava.


    ¡®I don''t appreciate being made fun of, Miss Linton.¡¯


    ¡®I can see that, Mr Ambrose. And I do not appreciate my questions not being given full and honest replies.¡¯


    ¡®What do you mean?¡¯


    ¡®Has anyone better qualified than I applied for the position of your private secretary?¡¯


    A few seconds hesitation again. Then: ¡®No.¡¯


    ¡®Well then.¡¯ Taking a deep breath, I unfolded my arms and rubbed my hands. ¡®When may I begin with my new duties?¡¯


    His hostile stare intensified to a force that almost knocked me off my chair and made the muscles in my stomach tighten with fear.


    ¡®I-need-a-man,¡¯ he said very slowly, enunciating each word. ¡®A man, Miss Linton. Not a girl who will run off screaming at the things she will see where my kind of business takes me.¡¯

 Page 22

    ¡®I hold you to your word,¡¯ I replied, glaring just as stubbornly, though maybe not quite so impressively, back at him. ¡®I ask you: Are you a gentleman or a liar? You told me to come and work for you. I didn¡¯t ask you. And now you want to back out?¡¯


    He stared at me. And stared. And stared.


    Half a minute.


    An entire minute.


    After two minutes, I was getting fidgety and wanted to blink, but didn¡¯t. I was not backing down on this. He would have to keep his word or throw me out into the street himself!


    Three whole minutes he looked at me like this. Then, towards the end of the third minute, something seemed to spark in his dark eyes, and though his facial expression didn¡¯t really change, he somehow suddenly seemed¡­ satisfied. Victorious. Oh no. He had decided to forget about honour and throw me out! I knew it! I just knew it!


    ¡®Fine,¡¯ he said. ¡®The position is yours.¡¯


    My jaw dropped. What? Had I heard correctly?


    ¡®It¡­ it is?¡¯ I stammered, unable to contain my surprise.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ he said, his voice as cool and calm as ever. ¡®I gave my word, and my honour is at stake here. Naturally, a gentleman must keep his word. The position of private secretary belongs to you.¡¯


    My heart started hammering wildly. Was this really it? Finally? My independence? My chance to build a career as a free woman?


    But there was something that wasn¡¯t quite right. Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t look resigned. In spite of the fact that this should be nettling him to no end, he looked¡­ pleased with himself. Darn pleased with himself. Though of course he didn¡¯t go so far as to actually allow a smile to appear on his stony features, I could feel it. Self-satisfaction radiated off him. Like a sleek black cat that doesn¡¯t need to smile, only show its claws to prove to the world how superior it is.


    ¡®You will, of course, be wearing the proper uniform,¡¯ he said, looking down at the papers on his desk again.


    I frowned.


    ¡®Uniform?¡¯ I hadn¡¯t seen anyone in his office so far who wore a uniform. What was he talking about?


    ¡®Certainly,¡¯ he replied, still not looking up. ¡®The same uniform you wore on the day I first had the pleasure to meet you, Mister Linton.¡¯


    It took a moment or two, then the penny dropped. I jumped up from my chair as if it had bit me in the arse.


    ¡®You expect me to come and work for you dressed up as a man?¡¯ I gasped.


    He looked up, sharply. ¡®I expect you to come to work dressed exactly the same as on the day I acquired your services, Mister Linton. I want exactly what I bought, and I am going to get it. Do you understand that, Mister Linton?¡¯


    ¡®I won¡¯t do it!¡¯


    He was out of his chair and around the desk in a heartbeat.


    ¡®It is your choice,¡¯ he said, stepping so close to me that our lips were almost touching. ¡®Either do what I say - or get another job.¡¯


    For a moment, my heart stood still as I gazed up into his deep, dark, dangerous eyes. Then I tore myself away from the sight, turned on my heels and angrily stomped towards the door. I threw it open and rushed past the bewildered Mr Stone.


    ¡®Good day, Miss Linton,¡¯ he called after me, hardly concealed triumph in his voice.


    Well, I thought to myself, We''ll just see about that! He wants war? He can have it!


    File Fight


    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯


    Mr Stone looked up from his desk and his eyes widened.


    ¡®I would like to see Mr Ambrose, please. I have an appointment.¡¯


    Mr Stone blinked, sat motionless for a few seconds, and blinked again. Only then did he recover from his astonishment. ¡®Oh, err¡­ I¡¯m so sorry, Sir. Of course, of course. I was only distracted for a moment because just half an hour ago there was a young lady here, also asking for Mr Ambrose, and you and she¡­¡¯ He trailed off, gazing in amazement at the small young man with longish brown hair standing in front of him.


    I tried to force a smile on my face. ¡®That was my sister.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, that explains it,¡¯ said Mr Stone, a bright smile ousting the puzzled expression from his face. ¡®May I say, Sir, that you and she share the most amazing family resemblance?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ve often thought so myself.¡¯


    ¡®Even your hairstyles are rather similar. It is truly intriguing.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you.¡¯


    ¡®And what is your name, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®Li-¡¯ I bit my tongue. Darn! In my haste to get home, change and return, I had completely forgotten that as a man, I could hardly go by the name of Lillian. My mind was as blank as the walls of Mr Ambrose¡¯s office as I tried to think of a name, any name that I could tell Mr Stone. Finally, my thoughts landed on the royal family.


    ¡®Victor!¡¯ I blurted out. ¡®Victor Linton.¡¯


    Thank God. When all else failed, one could still rely on the queen of England.[13]


    ¡®Very well, Mr Linton. Wait a moment please, while I see if Mr Ambrose is ready to receive you.¡¯


    He took up the metal horn from the desk and spoke into it.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose? A Mr Linton to see you.¡¯


    In response, there came only silence from the other end.


    ¡®Err¡­ Mr Ambrose? Are you there?¡¯


    Now there did come a noise from the other end. It sounded like something between a moan from a medieval torture chamber and the growl of a wounded Siberian tiger.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose, Sir? Are you all right?¡¯


    Apparently Mr Ambrose was all right, because he started to speak a few seconds later. I couldn¡¯t make out what he was saying, and part of me was glad for that. Stone nodded, put down the horn and then looked up at me smiling.


    ¡®Mr Linton,¡¯ he said, ¡®I have been informed that you have been accepted as Mr Simmons'' replacement and are now a member of the staff. May I take this opportunity to welcome you?¡¯ He got up, walked around the desk held out a hand for me to shake.


    Hesitantly, I reached out. I had never shaken a man¡¯s hand before, only curtsied. Would he be able to tell that I was a woman by a handshake? Determined not to give him any clues, I resolved to make my grip convincingly strong and masculine.


    ¡®Ouch!¡¯ Mr Stone grimaced. All right, maybe I had overdone it with the masculinity¡­ ¡®Err¡­ yes. Welcome, as I said. Now, where was I¡­?¡¯ Cautiously, he removed his hand from my grip and flexed his fingers.


    ¡®Ah, yes. Mr Ambrose regrets to inform you that he does not have time to receive you right now, since urgent business detains him. He wishes you to go directly into the secretary¡¯s office and wait for instructions there.¡¯

 Page 23

    I frowned. Urgent business that detains him? What business could be so urgent that he couldn¡¯t receive his private secretary? It should be my job to help him with his urgent business, shouldn¡¯t it? But orders were orders. And though I usually wasn¡¯t very good at obeying orders, these were different: unlike my aunt, Mr Ambrose would have to pay me for bossing me around. So I simply asked: ¡®The secretary¡¯s office?¡¯


    With his thumb, Mr Stone indicated a door to the right of his desk. ¡®That door over there. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction, Mr Linton. If there is anything I can help you with, please don''t hesitate to ask.¡¯


    Wow. If all my new colleagues were like this, working for a living would actually be a piece of cake. Maybe even a chocolate cake with extra sugar.


    Then I remembered my new employer, and reconsidered.


    No. Not a piece of cake. Definitely not. A piece of granite might be an appropriate description.


    I walked over to the door Mr Stone had indicated. I reached for the doorknob. I grasped and turned it, holding my breath. With a low ''click'', the door swung open. Nervously, I peered into my new domain.


    The room was just as I might have expected: bare stone walls, heavy curtains, a large desk. It looked like a smaller version of Mr Ambrose¡¯s office except that here, the desk stood against the wall and much of the space was taken up by enormous shelves holding large, differently coloured boxes. They all had numbers and letters written on them.


    Good God, what was this? Seeing these vast mountains of paper, it occurred to me for the first time to wonder what the duties of a private secretary would actually be. Ever since my discovery of his wealth, I had expected Mr Rikkard Ambrose to be a rich landowner and that, as his secretary, I would maybe have to write a few letters for him when he was too lazy to do it himself. But apparently he wrote and received a hell of a lot more than just ¡®a few letters¡¯. I was in for more than I had bargained for.


    Tip-toeing over to one of the boxes, I could see under the cryptic message ''29V118'' the explanation ''Georg. G. R.'' Spiffing.[14] Who was Georg G. R.? Sounded foreign. He had to be a most dedicated letter-writer, though. I reached out to open the box, then hesitated.


    But why not? After all, I was his secretary now. I would have to look through most of these sooner or later. Yes, that was an excellent excuse. Much better than ¡®I¡¯m just nosy¡¯.


    I opened the box and took a few papers out.


    What I found made me feel even more puzzled. They weren¡¯t letters. They were maps, drawings of mountains with short annotations about such things as rockers, nuggets and a whole lot of other things I had never heard of in my life.


    Mystified, I put the papers back into the box and put it back on the shelf.


    Then it occurred to me: why was I still waiting? Why had Mr Rich-and-Mysterious not called me yet to assist him in his oh-so-urgent business? I wanted to step out from between the shelves, but before I could do so I noticed a door behind them. From the layout of the room I supposed it to be a connecting door to Mr Ambrose¡¯s office. I approached it and carefully tried the knob.


    Locked.


    Blimey, this was getting on my nerves!


    But it was up to him to give me work, not the other way around. Having nothing better to do, I strolled over to the window and looked out over the city. As had been evident already from the outside, Empire House was a lot taller than any of the surrounding buildings and provided a stunning view. My office - I felt a thrill go through me at the words - my office faced west, and in the distance I could see the white dome of St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral rising over the houses. I waited. And waited.


    Great Paul struck eleven, and still I waited.


    I was just about to leave the room and ask Mr Stone if anything was wrong when I heard a strange sizzling noise from the direction of my desk. Eyebrows raised, I went over to investigate.


    The noise seemed to be coming from within the wall beside my desk. Whoever had put the stones there had done a shoddy job of it, because in the wall directly over my desktop was a hole, about an inch in diameter. The sizzling noise seemed to originate from there.


    Curious, I bent forward and put my eye to the hole. I couldn¡¯t see anything inside; it was pitch-black. But I could hear the sizzling noise getting louder and louder, until¡­


    ¡®Ouch!¡¯


    Something poked me in the eye, hard, and I staggered back. I almost fell onto my rear end but managed to grab the edge of my desk and stay upright. Bright lights flashed across my field of vision. I blinked furiously. When I could finally see again, I discovered a tiny metal cylinder lying on my desk. Apparently, it had shot out of the hole in the wall and right into my eye. The hole in the wall that was separating my office from that of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. I knew where that cylinder came from.


    Furious, I grabbed the thing and marched towards the door separating my office from his.


    ¡®Hey!¡¯


    No answer.


    ¡®Hey, I want to know why you tried to poke my eye out!¡¯


    Still no answer. I banged on the door with the hand holding the metal cylinder, and as I did, it fell out of my hand and onto the floor, breaking apart in the process. It was hollow!


    Curious, I leaned forward and saw that there was a tiny piece of paper rolled up in the cylinder. Taking it out, I unrolled it, revealing a few hand-written words in a clear, precise, no-nonsense hand.


    Mr Linton,


    Bring me file 227B


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    Bring me file 227B? Just ¡®Bring me file 227B¡¯? That was all? No please, no thank you. God, why did he even feel the need to sign it? No one else I know would write a message that cold, curt and discourteous. Well, maybe my uncle. But discourtesy from family didn¡¯t count.


    And¡­ ¡®Mr Linton¡¯? He couldn¡¯t even acknowledge the fact that I was a female when there was nobody else around? I had been afraid he was a chauvinist. I had been wrong. He was the king of chauvinists.


    But he was also the man who wrote my pay cheques. So I swallowed the adjectives I would have liked to throw at him and instead demanded of the closed door: ¡®Why are we communicating via tiny paper rolls? And what is file 227B?¡¯


    No answer - though he must have heard me through the door. The man didn¡¯t say a single word. But shortly after, a plink noise came from behind me, and I turned around only to see another missive from my master shooting out of the hole in the wall.


    Stomping over to the desk, I grabbed it and read:


    Mr Linton,


    We are communicating via tiny paper rolls because this is the most efficient system of communication. And you should be able to find a file on your own if you want to keep your position.

 Page 24

    Rikkard Ambrose


    Most efficient form of communication my foot! The cash-carrying bit-faker[15] just didn¡¯t want to talk to me and be reminded that he suffered from the shame of having a girl as his secretary! Well, two could play at that game.


    I started to rummage through my desk, opening and shutting drawers at a prodigious rate. Finally, I found what I was looking for: in the bottom drawer was a bowl full of metal cylinders and another one full of little bits of paper. I took both out, grabbed the fountain pen that was lying on the desk and began to scribble.


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    May I ask with all due politeness what kind of devilish invention this is you are forcing me to use?


    Thoughtfully, I tapped my lower lip with the pen. Then I closed the message with:


    I remain


    Sincerely Yours


    Miss Lilly Linton


    Yes! Show him that a proper girl can be courteous even if a stinking rich man cannot!


    Very pleased with myself I put the cylinder into the hole in the wall. It didn¡¯t move. Frowning, I examined the hole more closely - and then discovered a little lever right beside it. Well, it couldn¡¯t hurt to try. Probably.


    Cautiously, my fingers curled around the lever. Hoping fervently it wouldn¡¯t make the building explode or something like that, I pulled. There was a sucking noise, and the little metal container vanished into the hole. Phew! I hated mechanical stuff. You never knew what would happen when you pushed a button.


    For a minute or two, I sat at my desk, twiddling my thumbs. But I didn¡¯t have to wait long for a reply. With another plink, the metal missive-container shot out of the hole and landed on my desk. I grabbed it eagerly and unrolled the message. Ha! At least this time he would have to be more courteous. He would have to accept me as a girl. Wouldn¡¯t he?


    I read:


    Mr Linton,


    This ¡®devilish invention¡¯ as you deem it is the latest technical innovation for high-speed communication, called ''pneumatic tubes''. It allows me to communicate with all my employees in the entire building without leaving my office. This system has served me admirably ever since its installation. I would be required to change my modus operandi in order to communicate with you vocally. That will not happen. I do not change a working system.


    Bring me file 227B.


    And incidentally, I do not want you as mine, sincerely or otherwise.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    My eyes went wide as I read the last line before his name. The abominable, villainous¡­ That had just been a courteous closing line! Nothing more! I hadn¡¯t meant that¡­ well, I hadn¡¯t meant anything like the thing he obviously meant!


    Seething with rage, I grabbed another piece of paper and scribbled:


    Dear Mr Ambrose


    I am a female, in case you still have not noticed.


    How am I to give you file whateveritscalled if you do not open your bloody door?


    Yours infuriatedly


    Miss Lilly Linton


    The reply came soon:


    Mr Linton,


    You are no female while you are in my employ. As, by the way, you have amply proven by your language.


    Slide the file under the door.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    What? Now he complained about me not expressing myself in a ladylike manner, after he had forced me to come to work dressed up in a pair of striped trousers? I itched to send back another snarky remark.


    But¡­


    But¡­


    But this man was my master now. He was the one who would hopefully one day sign my first pay cheque. He was my ticket to freedom. My only chance. Blast him!


    I hurried over to the shelves that held the boxes. Two minutes of searching were enough for me to discover that whatever system my predecessor had used to sort his files, it most certainly was not an alphabetical one. Twenty minutes of searching went by, and I still hadn¡¯t discovered what I was looking for. As I was taking an extraordinarily large and heavy box from one of the upper shelves, I heard a familiar plink from my desk. Balancing the monument of a file container on my shoulder I tottered over to my desk, picked up the metal cylinder with one hand, opened it with my teeth and spat the removed half into the bowl on my desk.


    The message fell onto my desk. Still using only my one free hand, I picked it up and unrolled it laboriously. On the paper were written two neat, concise words.


    Hurry up.


    ¡®Oh thank you!¡¯ I shouted at the closed door to Mr Ambrose¡¯s office. ¡®Thank you so very much!¡¯


    With a grunt I deposited the gigantic box on my desk and began to look through it.


    After ten more minutes of ceaseless searching, I raised my head from the dusty intestines of box 37XV227, holding my trophy aloft.


    ¡®Yes!¡¯


    Now that I had invested so much trouble into finding it, I couldn¡¯t help wondering what file 227B actually was. I took a quick peep - only to be confronted by endless columns of meaningless numbers. This was what I had spent half an hour of my precious life on? Ah, who cared what was in it! What mattered was that I had found it, finally!


    Triumphantly I marched to Mr Ambrose¡¯s door, knocked, and shoved the thin file under the door. On the other side, I could hear the scrape of a chair being moved, and then footsteps. And oh, what footsteps they were - only Mr Ambrose could manage to make his step sound cool and disinterested.


    I didn¡¯t wait to listen for more, though. Right now, I was so exhausted that I didn¡¯t care what he did with the bloody file. I just went to my desk, collapsed into my chair, closed my eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief.


    A plink from the wall made me open my eyes again. Frowning, I picked up the metal cylinder and opened it. What now?


    Be quicker next time.


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    For a moment, I could hardly believe the words in front of my eyes. But only for a moment. Then, I saw red. Fuming, I grabbed my fountain pen and composed the following message in my best chicken scratch:


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    If you want me to be quicker at finding your files, maybe you should explain the sorting system to me.


    Yours (as your secretary, whether you like it or not)


    Lilly Linton


    I stuffed it into the tube and pulled the lever. The reply came only a minute later:


    Mr Linton,


    If you are not able to comprehend a perfectly logical system of sorting files, then what makes you think you are suitable for the position of private secretary? Maybe you should resign.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Ha! You would just love that, wouldn¡¯t you? And what¡­ perfectly logical? So far nothing I had seen of the supposed ¡®system¡¯ was perfectly logical, rather perfectly chaotic. How could anyone figure it out by themselves?

 Page 25

    Fear suddenly lanced through my heart. What if he sacked me? The possibility hadn¡¯t occurred to me until now, because he had promised to give me the job and could not break his word. But knowing the kind of man he was, I doubted very much he would still feel honour-bound to keep me if I didn¡¯t come up to scratch. On the contrary, he would probably be delighted to throw me out at the first opportunity.


    Resolving then and there not to give him that satisfaction, I got up and plunged myself into the jungle that was Mr Simmons'' filing system.


    When the next message landed with a plink on my desk, I sat there, awaiting it with a serene smile.


    With a flourish, I opened the message container and studied the message inside.


    Mr Linton,


    Bring me file 146K. Be quicker this time.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    I got up, walked over to one of the shelves, took out a box, opened it, took out file 146K, closed the box again, put it back on the shelf, walked to the door with the file in hand and slid it through the slit between door and floor. Then I knocked at the door and purred:


    ¡®Your file, Sir.¡¯


    I heard him getting up and without a word taking it from the floor. All the while I stood leaning against the door, my ear pressed to the wood, grinning like an idiot and feeling like a genius.


    This time, nothing came out of the hole in the wall. No message. No complaint. No scolding note. I did a little happy dance in the middle of the room. Yay! He had nothing to complain about. And I bet the fact was riling him up good and proper.


    Not long after, both files were returned in the same manner I had forwarded them. Attached to the top was a note.


    Mr Linton,


    Bring me file 188Q.


    Not a word about being quicker. If that was at all possible, my grin widened a little bit more. Quickly I scurried over to the shelves and, after depositing the returned files in their correct place, went to the next box and got him the wished-for documents.


    The following hours passed in a whirl of fetched and returned files, and curt little notes exchanged via the pneumatic tubes. If he actually read half of the files I fetched for him, I¡¯d eat my uncle¡¯s big top hat. He seemed determined to make me mess up, to pressure me so that he would be able to find some fault with me and have an excuse to sack me.


    And in every single note he sent he kept calling me Mister Linton.


    But I didn¡¯t let him get to me. I ran between the door and the shelves like a prize race horse, fetching each file in record time. The filing system had taken me some time to figure out, but it wasn¡¯t that difficult, really, once you had taken a moment to think about it: the first two numbers on the boxes stood for years (37, for example, stood, or so I assumed, for 1837). The letters behind that were really Roman numerals, numbering the boxes relating to that particular year. And the number behind that signified the place of the box in the overall order of boxes within the room. It was really simple to find a file once you noticed that the file numbers related to that last number. You simply had to run along the shelves until you reached the right one.


    Wasn''t I a smart girl?


    With a self-satisfied grin on my face, I pushed the fifty-second file under the door and returned to my desk to wait for the inevitable note.


    In spite of my success, I couldn¡¯t really say I was looking forward to the next note. Every time I read the greeting line ¡®Mr Linton,¡¯ I could almost feel the sparks flying out of my eyes. The arrogant son of a bachelor was completely trying to ignore the fact that I was a girl! The fact that he was the best-looking man I had ever seen in my life didn¡¯t do much to sweeten that fact.


    Why was he so determined to ignore me? Was it that he could not stand the idea of a girl in his employ, or was it me?


    So what if it is you? I asked myself. That¡¯s no problem, is it? It¡¯s not like you want to be noticed by him.


    Right. I had to remember that. It really didn¡¯t matter as who or what he thought of me, just that he gave me my salary and independence.


    But¡­ but I wanted independence as a female! Not independence as some cheap imitation of a man. I crossed my arms. That was it. I didn¡¯t want to be noticed by him in the way a girl wants to be normally noticed by a man, all that romantic crap and so forth. No, definitely not that, I told myself fervently. What I wanted was far harder: I wanted recognition. I wanted respect.


    And I was going to get it, even if I had to shake it out of him. He couldn¡¯t avoid me forever. At the end of the day, he would have to come out of hiding, leave his office, and then I could confront him!


    Or so I thought.


    About two hours later, when a long time had gone by without any missives from His Mightiness and I was just beginning to wonder whether perhaps he might have choked on one of his files, somebody knocked at my office door - the one to the hallway, not to Mr Ambrose¡¯ office.


    Surprised, I looked up. I was certainly not used to people knocking at my door as if they could disturb me doing something important. As if I were somebody important.


    ¡®Err¡­ come in?¡¯ I called.


    Mr Stone poked his head in. ¡®Mr Linton? Are you busy?¡¯


    ¡®No, no.¡¯ I quickly sat up straight and tried to look very professionally secretarial. ¡®Come in, please.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you.¡¯ Smiling his cautious smile, Mr Stone entered. ¡®I just came to give you a message. Mr Ambrose has sent me to inform you that he has gone out on urgent business and that he will not require your services for the rest of the day.¡¯


    I sat there, dumbstruck. Could this be what I thought it was? Could he actually have cut his day short in order to avoid seeing me? Why would he go to such abnormal lengths to avoid me? Was it such a blot on his honour to have a female for a secretary?


    Anger boiling up inside me, I stomped past a startled Mr Stone, went down the stairs and left the building, determining there and then not to let Mr Haughty Almighty and Annoyingly Handsome Ambrose slip through my fingers tomorrow. He would have to accept me or choke on the fact of my femininity.


    Disconsolately, I wandered home through the dusky streets of London. When, every now and again, couples passed me and I saw a smile on the lady¡¯s face that showed she was infuriatingly happy with her miserable lot in life as an inferior to chauvinists, I couldn¡¯t help but glower at her. The man who accompanied the woman nearly always noticed, drawing a protective arm around his charge and glowering just as fiercely back at the stranger. Chauvinism. Pure chauvinism, wherever you looked.

 Page 26

    Since there were a lot of people out on the street and I had a lot of glowering to do, I didn¡¯t reach home for about an hour. When I finally turned the last corner and saw my uncle¡¯s house, my eyes went wide in shock.


    The door to the house was wide open. Anxious, excited voices were calling out inside, and there was a large carriage right in front of the door. My uncle didn¡¯t own a carriage. Gripped by apprehension, I started to run. What the hell was going on in there?


    The Worst Fate Imaginable


    It was infuriating to have to go in through the garden door, climb up to my window, change, climb down again and return to the front. But I didn¡¯t want to give my aunt a coronary by appearing on her doorstep in a pair of striped trousers. When I finally arrived in front, the carriage was still waiting there, and so was my aunt, anxiously looking out into the street.


    ¡®Lillian!¡¯ She rushed out of the door as I approached, her hollow cheeks flushed, a determined smile on her face. Oh no. Anything that made my aunt this happy wouldn¡¯t be good. ¡®Finally, there you are! Where were you? Oh, don''t bother, it doesn''t matter. All that matters is that you¡¯re here. Come, come quickly you have to hurry! The ball starts in an hour!¡¯


    ¡®Ball?¡¯ I asked, dread welling up inside me. ¡®What ball?¡¯


    ¡®If you, silly girl, had just stayed at home like a proper young lady, you would know all about it. Your sisters, Anne and Maria, and I have been talking about nothing else for weeks.¡¯


    That would explain why I didn¡¯t remember. My ears were good at protecting themselves against unnecessary torture.


    ¡®Now come in and hurry, for God¡¯s sake!¡¯


    She rushed inside, skirts flying around her bony figure, and I followed with trepidation. ¡®Why a ball?¡¯ I wanted to know. ¡®What has a ball got to do to me? Anne and Maria get invited to balls, not me. I don''t go to balls, never ever.¡¯


    ¡®You will today,¡¯ my aunt trilled and made a pirouette in the middle of the room that was worthy of a prima ballerina. I could see it in her eyes: the golden glint that meant she was dreaming of finally being rid of us, and at a profit, too.


    The trepidation in my chest was quickly evolving into panic. Me, at a ball? I hated balls! Balls meant society, society meant people, and people meant either women or men, or worse, both! I disliked men in general because they oppressed women, and I disliked women in general because most didn¡¯t at all seem to mind being oppressed. And now I would have to face both, mixed together?


    Even worse - I had heard that at balls, people had to dance.


    With one another. Both sexes!


    ¡®But surely,¡¯ I tried to reassure myself aloud, ¡®only Anne and Maria are going? I mean¡­ they are the ones that everybody admires and wants to dance with.¡¯


    My aunt nodded, the happy glow of gold coins still gleaming in her eyes. ¡®I agree, no man in his right mind would want to invite you.¡¯


    ¡®Oh¡­ err¡­ thanks.¡¯


    ¡®Considering how uncouth and tanned and misbehaved you are.¡¯


    ¡®How nice of you to be so explicit.¡¯


    ¡®But,¡¯ she continued, turning her glittering eyes on me, ¡®Sir Phillip was so impressed by Maria and Anne¡¯s charms at the ball the other night that, now he is giving his own ball, he has issued an invitation for the entire family.¡¯


    Oh dear God! How could I escape this deadly trap?


    ¡®Sir Philip? Philip who?¡¯ I tried to stall her, my thoughts racing.


    ¡®Sir Philip Wilkins. Surely you must remember. I told you of his dancing with your sisters at Mr Marlow¡¯s Ball only two days ago.¡¯


    Actually I didn¡¯t remember. But I thought it best not to mention that to my dear aunt.


    Concentrate, I yelled at myself. Think of some excuse! You are not going to this infernal ball. Don¡¯t you remember what Patsy told you about what balls are like? Hours of aimless chatter, and your feet hurt from dancing for days afterwards? No, no, no!


    But my aunt seemed to read my thoughts as if they were broadcast on my face. ¡®Don¡¯t you dare think of not coming,¡¯ she hissed and wagged a bony finger at me. ¡®This might very well be our only chance at getting you introduced into society. We all have to go. Even Mr Brank is coming.¡¯


    This was such an unexpected piece of information that it shook the foundation of the world as I knew it.


    ¡®Uncle Bufford? Going out into society?¡¯ I eyed my aunt suspiciously. ¡®How did you manage that miracle?¡¯


    She smiled back at me in a way I think the harpies of Greek legend - you know, those monsters with women¡¯s heads and the bodies of birds of prey - would have smiled. ¡®I pointed out to him that it would not be a wise course to offend a nobleman of such importance as Sir Philip by refusing his invitation. I also pointed out that if Maria and Anne were to be married, he would have two less mouths to feed.¡¯


    In spite of my annoyance, I had to admire her. My aunt was not a very intellectual person - but when she wanted something she knew how to get it


    ¡®Enough of this talk!¡¯ She clapped her hands and grabbed hold of my shoulder, steering me upstairs. I tried to ram my heels into the ground, but she possessed super-auntly strength, originating from the force of her determination. ¡®You will get dressed now, and I do not want to hear another word of protest! You are nineteen, almost an old maid now, and it is high time you were introduced into society and found a man!¡¯


    Upstairs, she deposited me in my room and entrusted me to the capable hands of Gertrude. Not having much chance to find a husband at her age, and not at all displeased about the fact, Gertrude was more than happy to attend the ball in simple attire and instead concentrated the full force of her primping skills on yours truly.


    Within 20 minutes, my hair - which had been flattened into a strange shape by a box that had fallen on my head during the battle of the files - was transformed into an elaborate updo. Then I was forcibly stripped and stuffed into my other dress. With horror I discovered that my aunt had somehow found the money and time to alter it: my favourite dress was now a ball gown, with frilly lace at the sleeves and neckline, and, believe it or not, it was off the shoulders! My horror was complete when my aunt rushed in and pressed a fan into my hand.


    ¡®It¡¯s the perfect way to attract a man¡¯s attentions,¡¯ she said, smiling brightly. ¡®And very easy. You see, if you wave the fan like this, it means¡­¡¯


    ¡®Why do I have to wave this stupid thing around to attract somebody¡¯s attention?¡¯ I demanded, panicked. ¡®Why can¡¯t I just walk up to him and say ¡°Hey, I like you¡±, or ¡°Piss off, dick!¡±?¡¯

 Page 27

    ¡®Lillian Linton! Mind your language. And the reason for the secret language of the fan is that it is far more discrete than actual talk.¡¯


    ¡®I am not discreet!¡¯


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡®I am fully aware of that, Lillian. You had better change that quickly or else you will never find a man to take care of you.¡¯


    She rushed out of the room and I scowled at her retreating back. How I would have liked to shout after her that I didn¡¯t need a man to look after me, that I had my own job now and would soon be bringing home my own money. But I didn¡¯t dare. I knew that if I even breathed a word of it, I would be locked in my room faster than I could say ¡®unfair¡¯.


    So I frantically tried to memorize what waving an open fan signified, besides the fact that it was too hot and you wanted to get some air. While I waved at myself with the fan in front of the mirror and attempted to ignore the fact that for the first time in my life I was wearing an uncomfortably revealing off-the-shoulders gown, Ella entered behind me.


    ¡®Oh Lilly!¡¯ She came rushing up to me and hugged me, careful not to ruffle my hair. ¡®We¡¯re going to a ball! Isn¡¯t it exciting?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, very exciting,¡¯ I mumbled. I was still busy looking at the fan in the mirror. I noticed it was quite sharp at the end when not open. Idly I wondered what the message to a gentleman would be if he got a poke in the eye with it. I didn¡¯t think one needed extensive knowledge of the secret fan language to understand that. Maybe the fan would have its uses after all. I tucked it away in my dress and turned to Ella, who was gushing excitedly.


    ¡®¡­can you imagine how grand the ballroom will be? And the music, Lilly? I¡¯ve never heard a quadrille[16] before, let alone danced it! I would so love to dance. If only-¡¯


    She broke off abruptly.


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ I asked distractedly, still trying to figure out the best way of using a fan as a defensive weapon. ¡®If only what?¡¯


    ¡®Oh¡­ err¡­ nothing.¡¯


    What was this? Ella, being secretive? I would probably have paid more attention to this gross deviation from her usual character had not at that very moment my aunt stormed into the room and clapped her hands.


    ¡®Girls, girls! Why are you dawdling? Come on downstairs, the coach is waiting!¡¯


    We followed her down the stairs and joined the other four waiting in the hall: Gertrude calm and composed as ever, Lisbeth even more excited than Ella, and Anne as well as Maria with the same self-satisfied smiles on their identical breathtaking faces, in the full knowledge that the rest of us owed the invitation to the ball to their charms. They probably expected us to thank them on bended knee when it was over.


    Well, I had something very different in mind for my dear sisters.


    ¡®Shall we go?¡¯ Lisbeth asked eagerly, hardly able to stand still with excitement, and eying the door longingly.


    ¡®Soon,¡¯ my aunt snapped. ¡®And don''t fidget, Lisbeth. It does not become a true lady.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Aunt.¡¯


    ¡®And straighten your ball gown.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Aunt.¡¯


    I held my hand in front of my face to conceal my grin. Ball gown? Lisbeth¡¯s dress was just one of her normal dresses, altered like mine. Our aunt must have worked overtime to prepare these for the ball - but it was still obvious they were not the best of ball gowns. My aunt¡¯s pride and imagination had to do what her stinginess didn¡¯t allow: change linen into muslin and glass into diamonds.


    ¡®I,¡¯ she said triumphantly and turned to the second staircase which was almost never used, ¡®shall fetch your uncle now, girls. Wait here.¡¯


    We waited while she ascended the steps. We waited while she entered and we heard voices. The voices got a bit louder. And a bit louder still, especially hers. Then she came out of the room again, slamming the door behind her.


    ¡®Apparently, girls,¡¯ she said, rushing past us to the door, ¡®your uncle feels that since we all are going, there is no need for him to leave the house and pay his respects to Sir Philip. He feels he would just be in the way.¡¯ She huffed. ¡®Very well then. Come!¡¯ And like a general directing his troops, she directed us down the street towards where the coach was waiting - in my case, I felt like I had been pressed into service.


    ¡®Can you imagine?¡¯ Maria said to Lisbeth in a very audible whisper. ¡®This is one of Sir Philip¡¯s own carriages. He sent it along to convey us to the ball. What an honour for us to be favoured in such a manner.¡¯


    And Lisbeth, as the dutiful and thankful sister she was, gave the appropriate answer: ¡®It is all thanks to you, sister, and to Anne. You must have made quite an impression on his Lordship.¡¯


    ¡®Oh?¡¯ Maria giggled, and Anne joined in. ¡®Do you think so? Well, I must admit he seemed quite taken with me.¡¯


    That stopped Anne¡¯s giggling abruptly. ¡®But not quite as much as with me,¡¯ she added, throwing her twin a death-glare.


    I was tempted to point out that he probably hadn¡¯t been able to tell them apart, when their conversation and our advance towards the coach was interrupted. A young man came down the street and, seeing us, stopped and bowed. I recognized him: It was Edmund Conway, our neighbour¡¯s eldest son. He was a good-looking, polite young man, but unfortunately for him, he was also neither rich nor noble. So my aunt rushed past him without even stopping to acknowledge his bow. Knowing that my aunt couldn¡¯t see, I returned his salutation. Why not, after all? He was nice enough. But in spite of my politeness, he gave me an intensive and frankly disturbing stare - then turned and walked away towards his parents¡¯ house.


    ¡®What was that that about?¡¯ I asked, turning to Ella who was standing right behind me. ¡®Why do you think he was staring at me like that?¡¯


    Ella blushed. ¡®Err¡­ I have no idea. Let¡¯s go, shall we? The carriage and Aunt Brank are waiting.¡¯ She hurried off and I frowned after her. What was the matter with her? Must be the excitement of her first ball.


    The carriage that waited for us in front of the house was indeed an impressive sight: large, bright red and with golden ornaments everywhere. Two servants in livery were sitting on the box, one of whom had jumped down to help the ladies into the coach. When he attempted to offer me his chauvinist arm, as if I couldn¡¯t even get into a coach by myself, I gave him such a deadly stare that he quickly backed away and bowed. Good for him.


    I pulled myself up into the coach. Maria and Anne were of course already sitting there, and had taken the best places beside my aunt, facing into driving direction. Ella, Lisbeth, Gertrude and I had to squeeze ourselves onto the other bench. Ah well, at least I wouldn¡¯t see my doom approach.

 Page 28

    ¡®Gee up!¡¯ The coachman shouted. His whip cracked, and we were off. I was off to my first ball.


    ¡®Now listen carefully, girls,¡¯ my aunt said sternly, looking at all of us in turn. ¡®Anne and Maria have already been to balls many times, and Gertrude a few times as well, but for the rest of you, today is your coming out.[17] This first appearance in society is crucial. Therefore it is imperative that all of you, even those of you who normally exhibit strange and unladylike behaviour,¡¯ and she fixed her gaze on me, ¡®behave excellently tonight and show the gentlemen only their best side, understood?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Aunt,¡¯ we all chorused, except Anne and Maria who just kept smiling serenely.


    ¡®I¡¯m serious,¡¯ she said, again for some reason fixing her eyes on me alone. ¡®This might be your best or even only chance to find a husband.¡¯


    I scowled. I knew it! I knew that was what my aunt planned. A shiver went through me at the thought of being sold off to some stranger. That was no life for me.


    ¡®Don¡¯t squander it,¡¯ my aunt continued. ¡®Do your best. Give a good impression, or you might never get another invitation like this again.¡¯


    I perked up. Really? So¡­ I would just have to mess up so badly that she never ever would take me to a ball again. So badly that all the gentlemen would take me for the worst monster in town.


    A small smile spread on my face and I gripped my fan inside the folds of my dress. That shouldn¡¯t present any problem, now, should it?


    The carriage pulled up in front of an impressive fa?ade. It was impressive simply because it was large. Very large. You couldn¡¯t really see anything else of it yet because of the thick pea soup[18] that was drifting in from the River Thames. The house was nothing but a massive, vaguely rectangular shadow in the mist. The greenish glow of gas street lights was shining through the fog, and laughter drifted over to us. Apparently, the guests at the ball were enjoying themselves.


    I shook my head. Some people had really strange tastes.


    ¡®Look! Look!¡¯ Excited, Lisbeth pointed out of the window. Before us, gates and a low stone wall had appeared out of the mist. The gates stood wide open, with servants forming an impressive welcoming committee on either side. Hm. This Wilkins fellow had to be seriously rich. No wonder my aunt had been so desperate to get us all here.


    The servants stood to attention as the carriage passed. It took us down a short gravel path to the entrance of the house, flanked by two intricately wrought iron lanterns. More servants awaited us there. Good God, how many servants did this Wilkins have? And what did he use them all for? Surely one would be enough to say hello and welcome.


    Gravel crunching under its wheels, the carriage stopped in front of the large front door. It stood wide open, just as the gates, and had a red carpet, an actual red carpet in front of it. Three servants jumped forward to open the door, which impressed me very much - after all, it was only one door, with one handle.


    My aunt was the first to rise and descended from the carriage as if she were the Queen of England herself. All three of the servants bowed to her, and a smile appeared on her face like that of a vulture who had just found the cadaver of a fat cow. This had to be heaven for her. She hadn¡¯t had anyone bow to her in a very long time other than old Leadfield, and he didn¡¯t do it very often because of his bad back.


    ¡®Madam?¡¯ servant one asked. He held out his hand. Graciously, my aunt took out our invitation and handed it to him.


    Servant one examined it carefully, then handed it to servant two, who looked at it and nodded graciously, and then handed it to servant three, who also looked at it, and nodded even more graciously. Good gracious! I was drowning in graciousness here.


    ¡®Very good, Madam,¡¯ servant number one said, bowing so deeply this time his nose almost touched the ground. ¡®Welcome to Lenberry Hall, home of Sir Philip Wilkins. If you and your lovely nieces would be so good as to follow me, it shall be my pleasure to conduct you into the interior of my master¡¯s abode.¡¯


    Ella leaned over and whispered to me: ¡®What did he just say?¡¯


    I grinned. ¡®I think it¡¯s his way of saying ¡°Come on in¡±.¡¯


    And we both burst out in a fit of giggles. Our aunt threw us a look that could have melted lead and then said to servant number one:


    ¡®Very well, my good man. Lead on.¡¯


    With a very flourishy flourish, servant one indicated to servants two and three to join again the other servants congregated around the open front door while he entered the house at a measured, dignified pace. We followed, not quite so dignified - at least not me - entering a large hallway, and I had to vigorously employ my jaw muscles to prevent my mouth from falling open at the sight of the opulent splendour awaiting us:


    The walls were a pale beige colour, softly illuminated by large, glittering chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. Around the bottom, the walls were panelled in costly, dark woods that gave off a warm glow all of their own. Paintings of stately men hung on the walls, each in a frame that looked to be pure gold. What the floor was made out of I couldn¡¯t really see, for it was covered with large and fancy oriental carpets - but it was sure to be something darn expensive.


    ¡®Your coat, Miss?¡¯ I turned my head to look at servant¡­ three? Or was it four? Who had popped out of nowhere and was holding out his arms.


    ¡®What about my coat?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®May I take your coat, Miss?¡¯


    ¡®No, of course not. It¡¯s mine.¡¯


    ¡®He means to keep it for you while we are here,¡¯ my aunt hissed at me. ¡®You¡¯ll get it back later! Didn¡¯t you pay attention to any of my lessons in etiquette?¡¯


    Preferring not to give the rather self-evident answer to that question, I divested myself of my coat and thrust it at servant three.


    ¡®Here. Make sure nobody nicks it; it¡¯s my only one.¡¯


    My aunt closed her eyes as if in pain. Or as if counting to ten to prevent an explosion. I wasn¡¯t quite sure which.


    Servant of unidentified number cleared his throat. ¡®Err¡­ most assuredly, Miss.¡¯


    He hurried into a small side-room in which a multitude of hats, coats and scarves was already stored. Servants number four, five and six, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, began to help my sisters and aunt out of their outer garments, which apparently everybody thought they were either unable or unwilling to do themselves. Chauvinism. Pure chauvinism.

 Page 29

    Then, servant number one bowed once more and gestured down the hall.


    ¡®This way, please, Madam. Sir Phillip is awaiting you.¡¯


    Anne and Maria exchanged significant looks, which said as clear as day I¡¯m sure he is. But which one, damn you? They, along with my aunt, were the first to follow servant one down the hall. After them came Lisbeth, nearly bursting with excitement, Gertrude, quiet and demure, Ella, pale, anxious and shy, and finally me, trying my best to remain invisible to any mate-seeking men in the vicinity.


    At the end of the hall waited another open door. From inside the large room beyond, I could hear laughter and chatter. Servant number one placed himself beside the door and, as we entered, called:


    ¡®Mrs Brank and nieces.¡¯


    Not far from the door stood a tall, fair-haired young man. His hair was just about everything about him that could be called fair. His lips were too thin and his ears would have fit well on an elephant¡¯s head. The nose, however, any elephant would have rejected, pointing out that his conk was already large enough and he didn¡¯t need a monster like that messing up his or her perfection of elephantine beauty. An uncertain smile that quivered as if subjected to a continuous facial earthquake didn¡¯t do anything to improve the picture.


    His clothes, admittedly, were posh enough: he was impeccably dressed in a black tail coat, black trousers, white shirt and, best of all, a brilliantly colourful waistcoat showing off an elaborate pattern of red and green brocade with golden embroidery. But¡­ you know that saying, the one about the clothes making the man? Whoever came up with that saying hadn¡¯t seen this man, or his ears or nose.


    Still, in his fine clothes he looked much richer than Mr Rikkard Ambrose with his simple black attire.


    And why the blazes was I suddenly thinking of him?


    I shook my head, trying to shake off the unwanted image of a familiar cold face in my mind, as the young man came towards us and bowed.


    ¡®Mrs Brank? I am Sir Philip Wilkins. Please allow me to welcome you and your lovely nieces to my humble home.¡¯


    ¡®You are so kind, Sir Philip,¡¯ simpered my aunt. I wouldn¡¯t have thought she had that much honey in her pantry, let alone on her tongue. ¡®I must say you have a truly charming house, and such attentive staff.¡¯


    ¡®I only have the best of everything,¡¯ he replied, his gaze wandering dreamily over Anne and Maria. I had a sudden desire to find a bucket to be sick in.


    ¡®That I can believe,¡¯ my aunt told him, her normally steely voice still coated in sugar.


    ¡®But¡­ I do not see Mr Brank here, Madam. Is something the matter?¡¯


    Over the aunt¡¯s face passed a cloud of sadness that was so convincing it almost fooled even me. ¡®Ah, yes. Mr Brank regrets so very much that he could not attend, but he has been taken by a sudden illness and his doctor said he was not well enough to leave the house. I am to convey his sincerest apologies to you, Sir Philip.¡¯


    Sir Philip¡¯s ears drooped. ¡®Oh, I am grieved to hear about his condition. Please convey my wishes for his immediate recovery.¡¯


    Dear me. If they weren¡¯t finished soon I¡¯d be smothered by an excess of good manners.


    Well, time to start ignoring them and survey the battlefield for the evening¡­


    The large ballroom was even more extravagantly decorated than the waistcoat of its owner. The floor was polished dark wood, the walls a maze of gilded floral patterns. Large windows reflected the light of the enormous sparkly chandeliers, which hung from a ceiling painted with chubby little naked boys with wings on. I supposed they were cherubs - the boys, not the chandeliers.


    And the people. Oh the people. They were everywhere. At least a three hundred of them filled the vast room, conversing, bowing and curtsying to one another. And at least a hundred and fifty of them were men. One, sweet, single little me against one hundred and fifty! Now were those supposed to be fair odds?


    Suspiciously I eyed the masculine beasts and wondered which of those my aunt would try to marry me off to. None of them looked particularly nice. Especially compared to somebody very nice-looking I had met recently and was determined not to think of again tonight.


    Darn! I had done it again! But how was I supposed to think about not thinking about him without thinking about him?


    ¡®¡­and this lovely lady?¡¯ The voice directly in front of me pulled me from my thoughts. Sir Philip was standing before me, smiling his uncertain smile.


    I opened my mouth to speak. ¡®I am-¡¯


    ¡®That is my niece Lillian, Sir Philip,¡¯ my aunt interrupted me hastily and gave me her best don¡¯t-you-say-another-word-if-you-want-to-live-stare. Bugger! I had forgotten again. Introduction. You couldn¡¯t just speak to someone you didn¡¯t know, you had to be introduced first.


    ¡®Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Linton.¡¯ Sir Philip bowed, took my fingers and before I could do anything to prevent it, planted a soft, moist kiss on the back of my hand.


    Eww!


    I tried to wipe my hand unobtrusively on my dress while Sir Philip went on to Ella.


    ¡®And who is this lovely lady?¡¯ he asked. It seemed to be his standard sentence when seeing any previously unknown female. But then, as he took in Ella¡¯s delicate face, demure smile and fair skin, his behaviour abruptly deviated from the norm and his face was suffused by a deep blush.


    ¡®My niece Ella, Sir Phillip,¡¯ said my aunt, while Anne and Maria were competing in an ocular archery match, shooting venomous glances at Ella.


    He took her hand, too, and placed a kiss on in. ¡®Delighted to make your acquaintance,¡¯ he said, and it sounded like this time he really meant it. His eyes, as he looked at Ella, appeared slightly misty as if someone had hit him on the head with a wooden club. Why was he staring at her like that?


    Oh no¡­ not that. Not he of all people¡­


    Ella, much too intimidated by the fact that she was being spoken to by a member of the male population to actually say anything in reply, just curtsied in silence, looking up at the knight as if he were a lion that might eat her any minute. She didn¡¯t notice his dreamy gaze. But I had. Oh yes, I had.


    Sir Philip bowed to and greeted the rest of us. As soon as he was finished with Gertrude, though, he returned to stand beside my aunt, which coincidentally was also next to where Ella was standing. Anne and Maria, who, for two pretty young ladies, remarkably resembled gorgons[19] at that moment, moved closer.


    ¡®It will still be some time till the dancing begins,¡¯ said Sir Philip, speaking to my aunt, though he was looking at Ella out of the corner of his eye. ¡®Would you like me to introduce you to a few people?¡¯

 Page 30

    He could not have pleased my aunt more if he had asked whether he should gift her with the largest diamond in his jewel collection. To be introduced into the highest of London¡¯s high society, and by a member of the nobility no less, and with all her six expensive, unwanted and unmarried nieces in tow to show off to the rich bachelors of the metropole - it was every one of her dreams come true at once.


    She concealed her rapture well, however, and simply curtsied, saying: ¡®It would be my pleasure, Sir Philip.¡¯


    ¡®Excellent! Then follow me, please.¡¯


    Accompanied by a swarm of servants, which I soon gave up trying to number, we were led across the ballroom to a large group of people talking and laughing in quiet tones. They were rich, stinking rich, every single one of them. I immediately disliked them. They apparently, on beholding the makeshift ball gowns of my sisters and me, shared that feeling. Wilkins didn¡¯t seem to notice how they looked at us with their aristocratic nostrils instead of their eyes. He rushed forward and launched into a veritable storm of introductions. It wasn¡¯t long till I had forgotten half the names he had mentioned. There were some dukes and duchesses, various lords, and finally an untold number of misters and madams. None of them particularly aroused my interest, except for an older woman whom Wilkins introduced as Lady Metcalf. I tried to remember where I had heard the name before - then I had it!


    ¡®We have a mutual acquaintance, your Ladyship,¡¯ I said, curtsying.


    ¡®Do we really?¡¯ She stared at me with her nostrils like all the other ones - only in her case the nostrils were particularly impressive: large, weathered and with little hairs sticking out at the bottom that vibrated whenever she sniffed in disdain. As she did now.


    ¡®Yes, we do,¡¯ I replied, plastering a huge smile on my face. ¡®Miss Patsy Cusack. She told me about your very encouraging reaction to her organization of the women¡¯s rights movement. Have you received Patsy¡¯s answer yet?¡¯


    Lady Metcalf turned puce - whether from embarrassment, or anger, or simply because she liked to do that now and again, I didn¡¯t know. I was putting my money on the second option, though. Before she could say anything, Sir Philip had whisked us off to meet the next Mr Somethingorother.


    I was beginning to dread that he planned to introduce us to every last person in the ballroom, just to have the opportunity to be by Ella¡¯s side for another minute or two. The way he looked at her left no doubt as to how he was feeling. As to her feelings, I wasn¡¯t quite so sure. She said little and blushed a lot - but then, she always did that. It was impossible to determine what she thought of him and his elephant ears.


    Anne and Maria¡¯s feelings, on the other hand, were quite easily discernible. They had arrived here fully expecting to bask in Sir Philip¡¯s admiration for the entire evening, only to be upstaged by their little sister. They looked ready to devour Ella alive. And she, sweet thing that she was, didn¡¯t even notice.


    ¡®¡­ and this is Colonel Remington. Colonel Remington, may I introduce-¡¯


    Just as the Colonel bowed stiffly, his waxed upturned moustache making him look like he was trying to impale something on a fork, a gong sounded from the other side of the room and Sir Philip clapped his hands.


    ¡®Ah! The musicians have arrived. That was the signal from my master of ceremonies. The first dance will begin soon.¡¯


    Oops! Quickly I retreated a few steps, to the very back on the group. Luckily, my aunt didn¡¯t notice. I had to suppress the urge to turn and run. Dancing was most definitely not my forte. Not that the idea of rhythmically moving to music was so uncongenial to me, no, that wasn¡¯t it. It was this business about having to dance in pairs - with a man, whom you were supposed to follow! That was not how I envisioned spending my evenings, thank you very much.


    Now if one could discuss the way to move during a dance beforehand, on an equal footing with your partner, then democratically decide on a certain pattern, and then execute it, that would be a different matter entirely. But apparently nobody had ever thought of creating a dance like that.


    I positioned myself out of sight, behind the bulk of a conveniently fat duchess. From my vantage point I could just see Wilkins bowing to Ella.


    ¡®Miss Ella,¡¯ he said, his lips pulling into what he probably thought was an enchanting smile. ¡®Will you do me the honour of granting me your hand for the first dance?¡¯


    This was simply too much for Maria to bear.


    ¡®I am not sure whether that would be congenial to my dear sister,¡¯ she said, sourly. ¡®This is her first night out, you see, Sir Philip, and she might not be prepared to take such a big step as opening the ball.¡¯


    ¡®Her first night out?¡¯ Sir Philip brightened. ¡®All the more reason to make it a special night for her! If you have no objections, Miss Ella?¡¯


    Ella, who would not in her wildest dreams have dared to object to anything proposed by a knight of the British Empire, gave a shaky little nod and placed her hand in Sir Philip''s. They went off, leaving a fuming pair of twins behind them.


    I grinned and quickly ducked down behind the fat duchess when my aunt turned her head in my direction, her eyes searching.


    ¡®Lillian? Lillian, where are you?¡¯


    Thinking it unwise to respond to her question, I made my way instead to the side of the room where, behind a few extravagant tropical plants in pots, refreshment tables had been set up and chairs placed. Flopping down on one, I sighed and congratulated myself on my lucky escape. The music for the first dance had already begun to play. For now, I was saved from the mating rituals of high society.


    My eyes floated to the refreshment table next to me and saw there something very agreeable - a plate of, if I was not mistaken, the same curious solid chocolate substance that Eve had brought along with her the other day in the park. What had she called it again? Ah yes, a chocolate bar. I took one and bit off a piece.


    Aaaaah. This stuff was bliss. It seemed to fill me with peace and shoo all my worries away for a little while. The fellow who invented this should really be included in the next year¡¯s honours list. It showed that men were good for something after all.


    Chewing my chocolate bar, I watched the dances from the shadow of the potted plants. Ella seemed to be doing well, if only because, unlike me, she had no problems being steered around by a man. Anne and Maria were dancing considerably less elegantly, watching their little sister with envy instead of their own feet with care. My aunt was happy in the arms of a portly admiral. Even when the first dance ended, she didn¡¯t come to look for me, preferring rather to watch Ella and Sir Philip. It looked like for the moment I was safe. Maybe I wouldn¡¯t need to stab anyone with a fan after all.

 Page 31

    I smiled to myself. What was I really worrying about? Even if my aunt wished me to dance, first a man would have to ask me. By all accounts, that was extremely unlikely. Both she and my beloved twin sisters, kind and caring family that they were, had assured me on numerous occasions how thoroughly unattractive I was to men, with my tanned skin, wild hair and wilder manners. Apparently, according to the fashion of the day I was more likely to be taken for a fishmonger¡¯s daughter or maybe a female gorilla in a dress, than a lady men would actually be interested in, which suited me perfectly. Closing my eyes, I leaned back and popped another piece of chocolate in my mouth.


    Hmm¡­


    Just leaning back and thinking of nothing¡­ It was so relaxing. Maybe I could sit out the entire ball like this. I mean, why would anybody come here, into this secluded corner behind the potted plants? I could just sit and wait until we went home, eating chocolate. That wouldn¡¯t be so bad. And then the awful evening would be over, and then¡­


    Then it would be morning again.


    A familiar face appeared in front of my mind¡¯s eye. It would be morning, and I would have to go to work.


    Blast! Why did I have to think about him now, when I had just achieved a measure of peace and managed to forget all about the existence of the overbearing, annoying and infuriating species known as ¡®men¡¯ for a couple of minutes?


    But the more I tried to force his image from my mind, the clearer it appeared: his stark, angular features, his typical look of cool disinterest and, most of all, those dark, sea-coloured eyes that seemed like pearls from a bottomless ocean. Seeing all the opulent splendour surrounding Sir Philip Wilkins, I could not help but wonder why Mr Ambrose, who was supposedly one of the richest men in London, spent his days in an office with bare stone walls. I also couldn¡¯t help wonder where he had gotten his money from, if indeed he was as rich as Maria had claimed. He didn¡¯t seem to me like a wealthy landowner, not at all the sort of man to fit into London¡¯s high society.


    For a moment, I amused myself with the thought of how he would act if he were here. I couldn¡¯t help but smile. He¡¯d stick out like a shark in a flock of peacocks.


    Then, suddenly, I was jerked out of my thoughts by the most unlikely thing imaginable. A voice beside me. A man¡¯s voice. A man¡¯s voice asking, in a calm, polite tone: ¡®Miss Linton? Will you do me the honour of dancing with me?¡¯


    Practicing Impertinence


    My eyes flew open, and I looked up to see an upright, elderly military gentleman with an enormous moustache standing before me. Not Mr Ambrose. Definitely not. It was Colonel Remington, one of the many captains and colonels Sir Philip had introduced me to.


    And why the heck had I been thinking of Mr Ambrose? He wasn¡¯t even here!


    The Colonel cleared his throat. Maybe he thought I hadn¡¯t heard him.


    ¡®Will you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Linton?¡¯ he repeated.


    ¡®Err¡­ no,¡¯ I said.


    He turned a bit red in the face, and went away, looking rather affronted.


    Hm¡­ Perhaps that had not quite been according to etiquette? I racked my brains, trying to remember my aunt¡¯s lessons. Hadn¡¯t there been something about a lady never being allowed to refuse a dance unless she had already promised it to another gentleman? Well, if there was such a rule, it was complete bollocks.[20] I should have the right to choose not to dance with whomever I bloody well pleased!


    Through a gap in the potted plants I could see Colonel Remington joining a few of his military friends - mostly younger officers. He was gesticulating quite energetically. No doubt he was conveying something he considered to be of some importance.


    One of the young men laughed. ¡®Maybe she just didn¡¯t like the looks of you,¡¯ he teased the elder gentleman.


    My mouth dropped open. They were talking about me. Me! Well, at least that would ensure that I wouldn¡¯t be bothered with any more invitations to dance this night. My lapse in courtesy would spread across the room like wildfire, and surely all those chauvinists would be revolted and shocked to the core. None of the men would even bother to give me a second glance after that.


    ¡®I must have a look at that wench,¡¯ the young officer continued with a wink, and my mouth dropped open a little farther. ¡®Was she pretty?¡¯


    I couldn¡¯t hear the Colonel¡¯s more muted reply to this, but the young officer laughed again. ¡®Come on, old boy, she must have been! And known it, too - quite a conceited little madam, to turn down an officer like that.¡¯


    He winked at the other young men around him and strode off. I could hardly believe that he was going to do what I thought he was going to do.


    Nevertheless, when the dance had ended and the next one was approaching, I saw him striding towards me with a gait so pompous you could have identified him as a young military officer even if he had been missing his uniform, medals and underpants. He was accompanied by one of his friends who had already been introduced to me.


    Both of them examined me not unlike one would examine a piece of meat on a butcher¡¯s counter. I ignored them with magnificent composure and took another piece of solid chocolate from the plate beside me.


    ¡®Miss Linton?¡¯ Mr Familiar Soldier made an extravagant bow, and Mr Unfamiliar Soldier followed suit.


    ¡®I don''t know whether you remember me? I¡¯m Major Rushworth. Sir Philip introduced us.¡¯


    I did not deign to reply immediately - after all, it was considered impolite to talk with your mouth full, wasn¡¯t it? Instead, I finished my chocolate, and then plastered a smile on my face.


    ¡®Sir Philip introduced me to a great many people,¡¯ I replied sweetly. ¡®Most of whom my unreliable memory has already unintroduced again. You, I¡¯m afraid, are among them.¡¯


    It was half true. I had actually forgotten him. Nevertheless, my memory was usually very good - yet only for things I wanted to remember.


    Major Rushworth blushed slightly but didn¡¯t let that deter him.


    ¡®Well, may I be permitted to introduce you to a friend of mine? To this gentleman, here, Lieutenant Ellingham.¡¯


    My eyes narrowed. I didn¡¯t know much about etiquette, but I did know that the inferior person was always introduced to the superior. By deciding to introduce me to his friend and not the other way around, he had put me on a level below him. And that was something, considering the complacent smile on the lieutenant¡¯s face, which I did not appreciate at all.


    ¡®No, you may not,¡¯ I told him. ¡®But you may introduce him to me, if you like.¡¯

 Page 32

    ¡®Err¡­¡¯


    Apparently, at first the major didn¡¯t quite know what to say to that. He gazed at me for a moment, then collected himself again, cleared his throat and went on: ¡®Err¡­ very well. Miss Linton, may I be allowed to introduce my friend Lieutenant Ellingham to your notice?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, you may.¡¯ The smile on my face was widened a bit and I nodded graciously. ¡®Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant Ellingham,¡¯ I lied.


    ¡®As am I,¡¯ said the young man, whose arrogant smile had not in the least been reduced in radiance by my rebuff.


    ¡®Well, I¡¯ll leave you to it then,¡¯ the Major said, throwing me another odd glance and then disappearing with an eye roll at his friend. I saw the message ¡®It¡¯s your funeral¡¯ clearly in those eyes.


    And he was right. It was.


    Lieutenant Ellingham seated himself beside me. Taking the bull by the horns, I turned to him. Best to get this over with.


    ¡®Well, what should we talk about, Lieutenant? The weather would be a good subject of discussion, if we were not inside and it was night.¡¯


    ¡®How about the society?¡¯ he asked, gesturing towards the people dancing everywhere in the grand room.


    ¡®That would be unwise. When you make conversation, it is generally considered best to say nice and polite things. And the present society would not furnish me with a lot of opportunities for that.¡¯


    He blinked at me, no doubt wondering if he had heard right. In the end, he seemed to decide that he had not. I was a lady, after all. Ladies didn¡¯t say impolite things. It was unheard of.


    Instead of trying to find another topic, he cut right to the chase.


    ¡®I must admit, Miss Linton, that I had a particular reason for wishing an introduction with you.¡¯


    ¡®Did you, now?¡¯ I couldn¡¯t entirely keep the sarcasm out of my voice. But the young man¡¯s arrogance apparently made him immune to sarcasm from ladies as well as to impudence. He gave me a smile that he probably thought was charming.


    It wasn¡¯t.


    ¡®Yes, I did. I have been admiring you from afar for some time now. You have caught my eye, Miss Linton.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed?¡¯ I raised an eyebrow. ¡®I can¡¯t remember you throwing it at me, to be honest. I don''t have your eye on me, I promise. I never catch eyes. They are rather slippery and slimy things, not at all the kind of objects I would like to carry around in my pocket.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­¡¯ he blinked, just as dumbfounded as his friend before, clearly lacking the brains to decipher my reply. For some unknown reason, I took pity on him.


    ¡®Were you going to ask me if I would dance with you?¡¯ I asked him.


    ¡®Yes! That is it, exactly. How did you know?¡¯


    ¡®Let¡¯s just say I am a discerning person. Well, if it is a dance you want, that makes things very simple.¡¯


    ¡®Excellent.¡¯ He got up, his arrogant grin back on his face, and held a hand out to me.


    ¡®No,¡¯ I said, not looking up at him.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a look of confusion cross his face.


    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯


    ¡®You want to dance with me - I have just given you my answer. No.¡¯


    ¡®Oh.¡¯


    ¡®Yes. Why don''t you try that young lady over there? She looks to be in want of a partner, and unlike me, she actually wants one. Goodbye.¡¯


    He stood rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, then let his hand drop and walked off. Picking another piece of chocolate off the plate, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. For some reason, he didn¡¯t appear very disheartened. If I had to choose a word to describe his facial expression, I think I would have chosen ¡®intrigued,¡¯ though I didn¡¯t see how the bloody hell that could be.


    Through the potted plants, I saw him return to his friends, and they hooted and slapped him on the back while he grinned shame-faced. I was very pleased with myself. Now, finally, there would be an end of the matter. No more invitations to dance tonight.


    A few minutes later a cough distracted me, and I looked up only to be confronted with another officer asking me to dance. I turned him down like a bedspread. And the one after that. And the one after the one after that. And the other gentlemen who followed, from captains to colonels, from misters to majors. It was amazing - the more of them I sent packing, the more seemed to pop up everywhere. You¡¯d think that by now they would have gotten the message.


    During a break in the assault of dance-addicted gentlemen, I took another peep through the foliage. Ella was again being whisked across the floor in the arms of Sir Philip Wilkins and looked about ready to faint from the attention. I grinned. It would do her good to be out in society. Maybe she would get a little more confidence and experience.


    But as I let my eyes wander farther over the assembled guests, I noticed something strange: I couldn¡¯t see my aunt anywhere. That was very curious indeed. Ella, Maria and Anne were busy hunting for prospective husbands. Lisbeth was doing her best, and even Gertrude was dancing with a quiet, elderly gentleman.


    My aunt would hardly leave the dance floor at such a moment, unless it would be to¡­


    And then the voice of doom spoke behind me.


    ¡®Lilly - What in the name of the Lord is this I have been hearing, about you refusing to dance?¡¯


    Oh blast!


    My aunt emerged from behind a potted plant like a vulture from behind a lone desert rock and stalked towards me. I could almost see the sword of just punishment in her right and the scales in her left hand.


    ¡®Err¡­ hello, Aunt,¡¯ I said. ¡®This is a nice evening. Wonderful ball, don''t you think?¡¯


    But apparently, my aunt did not want to change the subject right now. ¡®I heard from Colonel Remington that you refused to dance with him.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ only from him?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, he¡­ Wait, what do you mean, only from him? Do you mean to say there are others with whom you refused to dance?¡¯


    I could have slapped myself for not keeping my big mouth shut. I wasn¡¯t usually timid, but in the face of the huge fire breathing dragon that was my aunt, I cowered on my chair, my eyes downcast.


    ¡®Err¡­ maybe?¡¯


    ¡®Either you did or you didn¡¯t. Well?¡¯


    ¡®Did.¡¯


    ¡®How many? Two? Three?¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ more something like¡­ thirteen? Maybe fourteen?¡¯


    Watching my aunt¡¯s expression, I truly believe that had we been at home, my eardrums would have been in some danger of being shattered by her reaction. However, at this very moment a gentleman stepped up to the refreshment tables and took a piece of chocolate off the plates, reminding my aunt that we were in company and that ladies did not scream like furies when they were in company.

 Page 33

    Slowly, she stepped towards me until only inches separated us and bent down towards my ear.


    ¡®If you should be so lucky as to have another deluded gentleman apply for your hand,¡¯ she hissed into my ear, ¡®you will accept it or I will lock you in your room and throw the key away, understood?¡¯


    I paled. My aunt, misinterpreting my look, nodded satisfied. ¡®That¡¯s it. No lounging about in the park or in the garden, no going to the library, and above all no meeting with those friends of yours.¡¯


    All I could manage in answer was a shaky nod. My aunt didn¡¯t know the real force of her threat. I had obligations now. I couldn¡¯t simply be locked in my room like a spoiled child. If I wasn¡¯t punctually at work tomorrow, Mr Ambrose would dismiss me for sure.


    For a fleeting moment the idea of leaving home entered my mind - but no. I wasn¡¯t even of age yet. My aunt could bring me back and forcibly lock me in my room if she wished. Though if she heard I had left her house to work for a living, she would probably lock me in an insane asylum instead.


    I swallowed hard. There was nothing for it.


    I had to dance.


    Dance with a man.


    Six or seven minutes later, a young officer approached me and bowed. Colonel Malcolm. I remembered him from Sir Philip¡¯s flood of introductions. Somewhere behind him I could see a few others, among them Lieutenant Ellingham, laughing quietly. ¡®Miss Linton? May I have the honour of the next dance?¡¯


    The officer braced himself for the rebuff.


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    He stared at me, evidently taken aback.


    ¡®Really?¡¯


    I pulled a face. ¡®Yes, really. I said yes, didn¡¯t I?¡¯


    ¡®Umm¡­ yes, you did. It¡¯s just¡­¡¯


    I rolled my eyes at him.


    ¡®Let¡¯s just get this over with, shall we?¡¯


    The music began to play. Getting to my feet, I grabbed the surprised officer by the hand and hauled him onto the dance floor, while his friends watched in awed amazement.


    ¡®Are you wearing good, solid boots?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®Boots?¡¯ The young man looked at me with mounting confusion. ¡®Yes, Miss. Why?¡¯


    ¡®Because I¡¯ve never danced before in my life and I will probably step on your feet half the time. I don''t want you permanently injured.¡¯


    He grinned a little boy grin. ¡®That¡¯s all right. I don''t mind. I¡¯m a cavalry officer you know? Had a horse step on my foot three times already. You don''t think you¡¯re heavier than a horse, do you?¡¯


    Suddenly realizing what he had said, he blushed.


    ¡®Begging your pardon, Miss. I didn¡¯t mean to imply that¡­ well¡­¡¯


    Unwillingly, I had to grin back. This might just not be such an ordeal after all.


    ¡®Hmm¡­¡¯ I replied, pretending to contemplate the question. ¡®No, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m quite as heavy as a horse. But nearly.¡¯


    He smiled, relieved. ¡®Then I shall take care with every step I take.¡¯


    We danced. It didn¡¯t turn out to be that terrible. Colonel Malcolm was - for a man - relatively quiet and well-behaved. He pointed me into the right direction without forcing me and didn¡¯t complain when I trampled on his toes. When we were done with the quadrille, he bowed to me in a very gentlemanly manner and said with a light smile that this had been a very novel experience.


    My next partners were not quite so agreeable. While my aunt watched from the shadows of the potted plants, I wrestled with various men who seemed to think dancing consisted of pushing around the female like a piece on a chessboard. Whenever they would get too overbearing, I would make good use of my heel and aim a solid kick at the gentleman¡¯s feet, or use my fan to prod them in the ribs. This elicited very satisfying groans from the male monsters. In that way, I got through about an hour of dancing. Sweat was beginning to trickle down my forehead. I threw a pleading glance at my aunt.


    She shook her head.


    So I smiled at the next gentleman and said yes, he could have the honour of this dance. The fight was beginning to go out of me. My kicks became increasingly feeble. After another half hour, I turned to my aunt again, this time clasping my hands in supplication.


    She considered a moment - then nodded.


    Thank the Lord! I was free. What bliss.


    Staggering to a chair near the refreshment tables, I flopped down on it and leaned back, closing my eyes. Whoever knew dancing could be so exhausting? If this was what you had to do in order to catch yourself an eligible bachelor, I wondered at the fact that not more ladies had decided to try and go find a job of their own. Compared with this, even working for Mr Stoneface Ambrose looked like a piece of chocolate cake.


    Could I take off my shoes? My feet ached, and I wanted so much to give them a little room and air. But although this hadn¡¯t been included in any of my aunt¡¯s lectures about etiquette, I somehow believed that taking off your shoes and putting your feet on the next table wasn¡¯t considered acceptable behaviour at a high society ball.


    My only consolation, I thought with a grin, was that I knew that my partner¡¯s feet would be hurting a dang sight more than mine right now. There was nothing so useful to a girl as really solid heels.


    ¡®¡­ and abominably rude,¡¯ a voice made its way through the haze of my exhaustion to my brain. My eyelids fluttered open. The voice was coming from behind the nearest potted plant. I wasn¡¯t someone who eavesdropped, normally. Normally people didn¡¯t have anything interesting to say. But this sounded like one of those rare occasions where it might be interesting to keep an ear open. After all, they mentioned rudeness. They might be talking about me.


    ¡®Yes, that is what I heard,¡¯ I heard another voice, which I recognized as Lady Metcalf''s. ¡®But he has certain¡­ redeeming features.¡¯


    Oh. Not me. They were talking about some stupid man. Losing interest in the discussion, I slowly rose and started away in the direction of another refreshment table. I almost didn¡¯t catch the next sentence.


    ¡®But can anyone of you tell me what is so fascinating about him?¡¯ Another voice demanded. ¡®I just got back from the country and found that all London is awash with talk of him. I mean, what is so special about this Mr Rikkard Ambrose?¡¯


    I froze in my tracks.


    The Sins of Mr Rikkard Ambrose


    ¡®You haven¡¯t heard?¡¯


    The voice was full of glee and juicy gossip. I was so quickly at the potted plant behind which the group of gossiping ladies where hiding that I saw who had spoken. It was the Duchess of Brandon. I should have been able to guess from the tone.

 Page 34

    Lady Allen, obviously the one who had asked the question, flushed a little. ¡®From what I¡¯ve heard since I¡¯ve arrived in town, he¡¯s rumoured to be one of the richest men in London,¡¯ she said defensively.


    ¡®One of the richest?¡¯ The duchess laughed. The sound almost made me want to go away again, or at least stuff my ears while it lasted. ¡®My dear, from what my sources tell me, he is the richest. His wealth is unparalleled. There is only one other man who can hold a candle to him.¡¯


    Lady Allen¡¯s mouth formed a little ''O'', and her eyes went wide.


    And I had to admit, to my shame: for once in my life I felt the same as Lady Allen and the Duchess of Brandon. I was awed, and a cold shiver ran down my back. The more I heard about Mr Ambrose, the more rich and powerful he seemed to become. Where the hell did all this wealth come from? I couldn¡¯t believe he was simply the heir of some large estate. Why would he have that monumental building in the city if his wealth came from his inheritance? And what had all those people been doing there, hurrying about, carrying papers?


    The third member of the little discussion group behind the potted plant seemed to harbour similar questions.


    ¡®Yes, yes.¡¯ I knew that voice. Peeking through the foliage, I saw Lady Metcalf wave her fan. ¡®But does anybody know where his wealth comes from? I must say, I have my suspicions that it¡¯s not honest money, and that he is no gentleman. I have repeatedly invited him to balls and the theatre, and never once has he accepted my invitation. He hasn¡¯t even replied! The nerve of him! I say there must be something fishy about him, there is no other way to explain such dastardly behaviour.¡¯


    For some reasons those words made a grin appear on my face. Suddenly, I liked my employer a little bit better. Just a little bit.


    ¡®Well¡­¡¯ the duchess said in that drawn-out tone that said ¡®I have a shocking piece of information and I am willing to share, but you must badger me first since I cannot very well appear to be a gossip.¡¯


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ Lady Metcalf leaned closer, eagerly. ¡®You know something, Duchess?¡¯


    Carefully, I stepped even closer to the potted plant, praying they would not notice me. The duchess was a treasure trove of gossip, and for once I was actually interested in what she had to say. Very much so.


    ¡®I really can¡¯t,¡¯ she protested. ¡®It is only a rumour, and I would never want to slander anybody.¡¯


    Amazing how people could lie without their face twitching.


    ¡®We won¡¯t tell,¡¯ Lady Metcalf assured her.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ Lady Allen concurred. ¡®You know us. We don''t gossip.¡¯


    Really, really amazing.


    ¡®Well¡­ all right, if you promise not to repeat anything I say.¡¯


    ¡®We promise,¡¯ Lady Metcalf nodded eagerly.


    ¡®It is only a rumour, mind you, and I do not have any proof.¡¯ The duchess gloried in the eager anticipation of her friends.


    ¡®Does he have anything to do with the Ambroses in the North?¡¯ Lady Metcalf tried to guess. ¡®A very good family, I think.¡¯


    ¡®Dear Lord no, my dear. The Northern Ambroses? The earl¡¯s family? They may have recovered from their financial difficulties, but I assure you, they do not have the kind of money this Mr Ambrose has.¡¯


    ¡®But if he has not inherited his wealth from them, where did it come from?¡¯


    The Duchess smiled. Lowering her voice, she said:


    ¡®That is the shocking part. I have heard,¡¯ she continued lowering her voice even more until it was only a whisper, ¡®that he is involved in commerce!¡¯


    The two ladies gasped in shock.


    ¡®Surely not!¡¯


    ¡®Unbelievable!¡¯


    ¡®And trade. And he invests in manufacturing and industry. Can you imagine?¡¯


    Lady Metcalf began to fan herself. ¡®Stop, please, my friend. Or I am going to faint. That anybody should degrade himself so¡­¡¯


    ¡®You have not heard the worse of it,¡¯ the Duchess said, ominously.


    ¡®My dear, what could be worse than that?¡¯


    ¡®I have heard, from a very reliable source, that during his youth he actually worked for money, that he did manual labour.¡¯


    ¡®Dear me!¡¯


    ¡®Heavens!¡¯


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ the Duchess repeated with glee. ¡®He worked for a living! Among common working-class folk! It is hardly creditable, is it not?¡¯


    ¡®Please, have mercy on us, stop!¡¯


    ¡®And not even here in the United Kingdom - but in some wild place in the former colonies!¡¯


    ¡®You don''t mean - oh goodness, you don''t mean that awful place¡­ what do the people call it again?¡¯


    ¡®The ¡°United States of America¡±.¡¯


    ¡®God, yes. Please, Duchess, no more. Even the mere thought of that place makes me shudder!¡¯


    ¡®They do not even have a king over there, do they?¡¯


    ¡®Worse, my dear! They do not even take tea in the afternoon.¡¯


    I didn¡¯t catch much of the conversation after that. I had to admit, I was too blown away. Well, well, well¡­ a gentleman who once did work for wages and earned his way to the top. What a novel idea. I couldn¡¯t suppress a grin. How very naughty of you, Mr Ambrose, to so flout the traditions of the English upper class.


    But then my good mood vanished and I was overtaken by sudden anger. How dare he? How dare he judge me and my attempt to earn a living when he himself had done the same? Yes, I was a girl and he was man, but apparently a gentleman. For a gentleman to work for a living was almost more outlandish than for a female to do it. And how, by the way, had he gotten so stinking rich at it? He couldn¡¯t have worked as a secretary, that much was for sure.


    ¡®''I will find out the truth about you, Mr Ambrose,¡¯ I vowed to myself. ¡®And I will make you accept me. You are my ticket to freedom, whether you like it or not.¡¯


    The ball ended about three months later. Well, it felt like that to me, anyway, although it probably only was a few hours. We were conducted outside not only by servants number one, two, three, four, seven, eleven and twenty-five, but also by an enthusiastic Sir Philip Wilkins, who kept flashing meaningful smiles at Ella and waggling his over-large ears. Though I rather think he didn¡¯t do the latter intentionally. Outside, he personally called one of his carriages to convey us home - and not the same carriage either, but an even larger and more luxurious version.

 Page 35

    Our sitting arrangement on the way home was rather different from before. Now, a glowering Anne and Maria had taken their seats on one side, keeping everyone at bay with the bad mood radiating off them, while the rest of us were comfortably placed opposite them. Unlike on the way over, our aunt didn¡¯t give the twins a second glance. She was too busy contemplating Ella¡¯s matrimonial prospects.


    ¡®¡­three times he danced with you, Ella, just think! Three times. Not to speak of the compliments he made you,¡¯ she purred. I could almost see the twinkle of gold in her eyes as she contemplated the wealth of her future nephew-in-law.


    Ella nodded, slightly puzzled. ¡®He was indeed most attentive. It is no wonder that so many fine ladies were at his ball, considering how well he behaves to all his guests.¡¯


    My aunt laughed. It sounded a little like a choking vulture.


    ¡®Oh, my dear. I doubt he would have paid so much attention to any of the other ladies.¡¯


    ¡®But, Aunt¡­ what special interest could he have in me?¡¯


    This made my aunt laugh again, then wink at her niece. She was about as talented at winking as she was at laughing.


    ¡®Of course, of course, my dear. You are very wise to be discreet.¡¯


    By this Ella seemed only more puzzled. Anne and Maria were staring daggers at her, choosing rather to believe her insincere than to believe anyone could actually be so innocent. I could hardly believe it myself - but unfortunately I knew it to be true. This was Ella we were talking about. I resolved to give my little sister a lecture about men once we were safely upstairs in our room.


    When we got home, though, it looked like it would take some time before we could get to bed. First my aunt had to rush up to my uncle and tell him everything that had happened at the ball. Then she had to rush down and tell us how delighted he had been about everything that had happened at the ball, most of which she had to make up because my uncle probably didn¡¯t utter more than two words in response to her jubilation.


    And then¡­


    Well, then the flowers arrived. We had just managed to calm my aunt down to a certain extent, when the doorbell rang. We were all so curious to know who could be calling at this late hour that we all gathered at the entrance to the hallway to catch a peek of the front door as Leadfield shuffled down the hall.


    It took him a while to manoeuvre himself into a position in which he could open the door without losing his balance and falling over, but finally he managed. The door opened, and outside a young man in livery stood, carrying something colourful and enormous.


    ¡®For Miss Ella Linton,¡¯ he said, thrusting the big thing at Leadfield, who swayed under the weight.


    ¡®Th-thank you,¡¯ he said, managing a half-bow. ¡®I shall deliver it directly.¡¯


    Leadfield had hardly closed the door when we all rushed out into the hallway. My aunt was leading the charge.


    ¡®Well, Ella?¡¯ she demanded of my little sister, who was holding herself in the background. ¡®See if there is a card! See who it is from. Hurry, hurry!¡¯


    Cautiously, Ella stepped forward and took the enormous bouquet - for that¡¯s what it was - from the swaying Leadfield. I supposed if one liked flowers and things, it was quite impressive. Some yellow flowers, dozens of white ones, and at the very top one of those red thorny things which were supposed to be so romantic. What were they called again? Ah yes, roses! Right beside the rose, a card peeked out of the bouquet.


    While just managing to hold the massive flower arrangement with one hand, Ella took the card with the other, opened it, and read:


    ¡®For the most wonderful dance ever. Sir Philip.¡¯


    ¡®Aww!¡¯ My aunt clapped her hands, her eyes glowing with triumph and the promise of untold riches. ¡®I knew it! I knew they had to be from him. Such beautiful flowers! And on the same evening, Ella, only imagine! I rather expected him to send a little something tomorrow, but on the same evening¡­ That is promising, promising indeed.¡¯


    ¡®Promising for what, Aunt?¡¯ Ella asked.


    But my aunt only winked again and hurried off, muttering to herself: ¡®Saint Paul¡¯s Cathedral! Yes, nothing less will do. It must and will happen at Saint Paul¡¯s Cathedral. And all my old friends will be there. Oh, I can see Mrs Gullifer¡¯s face now, green with envy she¡¯ll be¡­¡¯


    Anne approached her little sister with a smile that could have scared off a tiger. ¡®Congratulations, my sister. They are truly beautiful flowers.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ said Ella earnestly, blushing.


    ¡®I truly believe,¡¯ said Anne, ¡®that the bouquet might be even larger than the one I have got.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®Didn¡¯t you know?¡¯ If possible, Anne¡¯s smile got even nastier. ¡®Sir Philip sent me a bouquet very much like that three days ago, and one to Maria the day before that. He seems to be fond of giving away flowers.¡¯


    ¡®Oh,¡¯ said Ella. ¡®I¡¯m sorry yours wasn¡¯t as large. Do you want mine? I wouldn¡¯t mind.¡¯


    I had to steady myself against the wall, otherwise I would have collapsed from fits of silent laughter. Anne¡¯s acid-sour face was a picture!


    ¡®Don¡¯t be too confident, little sister,¡¯ she hissed, gathered up her skirts and rushed away with Maria right behind her. Ella looked after them, a puzzled expression on her face, then turned to me.


    ¡®What was that about?¡¯ she asked.


    I waved the question away, while trying to conceal my smile with the other hand. ¡®I¡¯ll explain it to you someday, when you¡¯re ready.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ thank you very much.¡¯


    We might have said more to each other, but at that moment my aunt rushed into the room again.


    ¡®Oh Ella, Ella my dearest! Isn¡¯t it wonderful? Such beautiful flowers! Show me again, will you? We have to find a vase for them, so when he comes to visit he will see¡­¡¯


    She was still rotating like an overexcited top, her voice too loud to even think of going to bed in peace. So I took a book out of my uncle¡¯s library and strolled into the garden. I hadn¡¯t indulged in my favourite hobby as much as I would have liked, lately. Too much had been going on. But at least now I had a few hours before I had to go to bed.


    What do you think I picked? Some wonderfully romantic novel that dealt with falling in love with tall, dark and handsome strangers? No, thank you! One tall and dark stranger in my life was quite enough. If those books gave help on how to organize a file system, that would have been one thing. But one glance years ago had been enough to tell me that all they were concerned with was strolling around gardens and mooning after men.

 Page 36

    I preferred another kind of bedtime story: an atlas of the world from my father¡¯s old book collection. Just my kind of book: no chauvinist heroes, no soppy heroines, and plenty of strange, foreign lands promising adventure. If only I could really go there - just like Anne Thornton, who had dressed up as a man to sneak aboard a ship bound for distant lands! I had never felt so envious in my entire life as when her story had gone through the papers a few years ago. I could hardly imagine how exciting a trip to inner Africa or the unexplored, icy regions of Canada might be. Much more exciting than dreary old London, I was sure.


    Slowly, I wandered through the garden and settled in the grass behind a clump of bushes, where I often sat when I wanted to avoid my aunt. The light of the moon was just enough to see by, so I opened the Atlas and started leafing through it.


    I had just managed to lose myself in China, somewhere between Peking and Quingdao, when my thoughts were pulled from their Asian idyll back to Ella. I tried concentrating on my book, but just couldn¡¯t. Poor, innocent Ella. After what I had seen at the ball, it was clear as the day that Sir Philip had his eyes on her. She was just hopelessly clueless. I sighed and turned the page. Well, I would just have to talk to her and explain a few things about what went on between men and women. Was my aunt in bed and out of the way yet?


    I was just about to move on from Quingdao to Hong Kong when a voice from the garden disturbed me.


    ¡®Psht!¡¯


    Or rather, not the voice disturbed me - but the fact that it was a man¡¯s voice. Definitely not Leadfield the butler! And my uncle? He wouldn¡¯t be seen dead in the garden. Who in God¡¯s name¡­


    ¡®Psht! I¡¯m here, my love.¡¯


    My love? Now things were getting a bit thick! I sat up straight and peered through the foliage but couldn¡¯t see anybody. And in the next moment I stopped looking, because what I heard made me forget all about the man.


    ¡®I¡¯m here! I¡¯m here, my love,¡¯ came the answer to the lover¡¯s call in the sweet, innocent tones of my little sister Ella.


    I dropped the atlas on my foot.


    Unsuitable Suitors


    ¡®Ouch!¡¯


    ¡®What was that, my love? Did you hurt yourself?¡¯


    ¡®No, my dearest Ella. Why do you ask?¡¯


    ¡®I could have sworn I heard somebody crying out.¡¯


    ¡®It must have been my heart crying out in joy at the sight of you, my dearest, my loveliest Ella!¡¯


    His heart? My foot, more like! Behind the bushes I was hopping on one foot, my hand clamped over my mouth to prevent any further outcries. I nearly toppled over but was able to grasp a tree and steady myself. Not more than a few feet away, hidden by the brush, I could hear the soft ¡®swoosh¡¯ of a gown gliding through the wet grass and my little sister¡¯s light feet as she hurried through the garden.


    ¡®Oh Ella!¡¯


    ¡®Oh Edmund!¡¯


    Edmund? Edmund?


    Peering between two bushes, I could see my sister standing at the wrought iron fence that separated our garden from that of the neighbours, clutching at the intricate ironwork as though it were prison bars separating her from all she desired in the world. And indeed, beyond the fence stood Edmund Conway, our neighbour¡¯s son, staring at my little sister with an expression on his face that I could only describe as¡­ besotted.


    Eww!


    ¡®Oh Ella,¡¯ he said again.


    ¡®Oh Edmund.¡¯


    ¡®Oh my love.¡¯


    ¡®Oh my dearest.¡¯


    They had said that already, hadn¡¯t they? Why repeat it? What was the matter with them? Squinting through the brush, I tried to get a better look at them. Were they ill, maybe? Well, they definitely both looked slightly crazy. They had silly smiles plastered on their faces and kept staring at each other like there wasn¡¯t a beautiful garden with trees and birds and a lot of other interesting things all around them. In Edmund¡¯s case I might have understood that - my little sister was an eye-catcher. But there really was no excuse for Ella¡¯s blatant staring. Our neighbour¡¯s son was a perfectly ordinary male specimen: brown hair, brown eyes, two legs, two feet, and one head on his shoulders. There was nothing about him to justify such staring. He didn¡¯t even have an interesting hunchback or a boil on his nose.


    ¡®You are growing into a real Lady, Ella,¡¯ Edmund said, his voice thick with emotion. ¡®I watched you from the house when you departed in your fine coach.¡¯


    He watched her? He watched her, the villain?


    ¡®Oh, it was nothing,¡¯ she said, blushing, and not even because she was offended, no! Was this believable? She was actually pleased! ¡®It was not our coach you saw. It was that of Sir Philip Wilkins. He invited my whole family out to his ball tonight.¡¯


    ¡®A ball?¡¯ Edmund sighed with the pathos of a Shakespearean actor. ¡®How I wish I could have gone to the ball and danced with you. How I wish I could just hold you in my arms once. But always this infernal barrier of iron keeps us separated!¡¯


    My eyes strayed from the pair of them to the ladder that leaned, not ten feet away, against the wall of the Conways¡¯ garden shed. I was almost tempted to say something but wisely kept my mouth shut.


    ¡®Not only this iron wall separates us, my love, as you very well know,¡¯ said Ella. There was something glinting in her eyes. Tears? Tears! That rogue had managed to make my little sister cry! I was strongly tempted to go over there and clobber him over the head with my parasol but stayed where I was. My left foot was still damaged from the atlantean collision, and I wasn¡¯t at all sure I could make it over there without landing on my nose.


    ¡®What else can separate two loving hearts?¡¯ Edmund demanded. ¡®Ella¡­ I love you. I wish nothing but to love you until my dying day.¡¯


    I heard a strange sound from a sister. Hiccups? No¡­ It sounded more like a gasp of pain. But why the heck would she be in pain? I didn¡¯t see any blood or other signs of injury.


    ¡®Oh Edmund, do not speak thus to me, I beg you!¡¯


    ¡®Why not? Do you not love me?¡¯


    He actually looked wounded. No, more than that¡­ devastated. Slight doubts were beginning to gnaw at me. Either he was a darn fine actor, for which I didn¡¯t really think him smart enough, or he really¡­ No! No, that couldn¡¯t be.


    ¡®Of course!¡¯ Ella clutched the iron poles of the fence even tighter, and her knuckles turned white. ¡®Of course I love you, Edmund! With all my heart!¡¯

 Page 37

    ¡®Then why conceal our love in the shadows, my dearest? Just think, it could have been me who danced with you at that ball.¡¯


    ¡®Edmund, please! Do not tempt me with these enticing visions!¡¯


    ¡®But why not?¡¯ The desperate fervour of his voice was beginning to get to me. What if he wasn¡¯t just an obnoxious, lecherous rake like ninety-nine per cent of his fellow men? What if he actually loved my little sister? I shuddered at the possibility. And even worse¡­ what if she really loved him back?


    ¡®Why, my dearest Ella, should I not openly proclaim my love for you? My family is not rich, but we¡¯re well-off enough, and I am, while still young, a respectable man. Why should I not gain your love?¡¯


    ¡®You already have it.¡¯


    Edmund took a deep breath as if preparing to jump off a cliff into an unknown ocean.


    ¡®What I mean, Ella, is: why should I not gain your love¡­ and your hand?¡¯


    Ella paled and only managed to stay upright because she was clutching the iron poles of the fence. My desire to clobber young Edmund was instantly revived. How dare he upset her!


    ¡®Edmund,¡¯ Ella said, her small voice quivering, ¡®you know it cannot be.¡¯


    ¡®But you say you love me?¡¯


    ¡®As a sister would her brother.¡¯


    This time it was Edmund who paled. Yes! Now you know what it feels like, you chauvinist son of a bachelor!


    ¡®Ella! Consider what you are saying. Do you wish to pierce my heart?¡¯


    ¡®I wish I could love you another way, Edmund. I do, I so desperately do. But I cannot.¡¯


    ¡®Why not?¡¯ Suddenly with colour in his cheeks again, the young blackguard stepped forward. He was now almost at the fence, only inches away from my little sister. I was vigorously massaging my injured foot, preparing to charge and save her from his evil clutches if necessary.


    ¡®There is an impenetrable barrier between us, Edmund.¡¯


    ¡®I will tear it down, my love.¡¯


    ¡®You cannot, my dearest.¡¯


    ¡®I can and I will.¡¯


    Now tears were running down Ella¡¯s face.


    ¡®How would you tear down our birth, Edmund?¡¯


    ¡®Our birth doesn''t separate us. We were born as soul mates.¡¯


    ¡®We were born worlds apart, Edmund. I am of the gentry. You, though the spirit of a king may live in your breast, are the son of a tradesman.¡¯


    ¡®An honest and prosperous tradesman. I could support you in the style to which you are accustomed. I would not dare seek the hand of a lady such as you if that were not the case.¡¯


    ¡®Oh Edmund!¡¯ My little sister¡¯s lower lip quivered so piteously that I almost started to cry myself. Only the knowledge that this fuzz was all about nothing but a load of romantic balderdash kept me from losing my dignity. ¡®I have told you this a thousand times. The wealth of your family does not matter. It is the position of your family that troubles me. I know you to be good and kind and loving, but that counts for nothing with my aunt, who holds rank and pedigree above everything else. If she were to discover my love for you, the son of a common tradesman, we would be separated and never see each other again.¡¯


    ¡®So this is it? This is why nobody must know of our attachment?¡¯


    ¡®Nobody. Not even my dearest sister Lilly, the one who after you, Edmund, I love most in the world, knows of this, my dark and sinful secret. I have kept it close to my heart and have been most cunning in concealing it from the world.¡¯


    Covering my eyes with my hand, I slumped back into the grass. Yes, most cunning indeed - conducting a secret romance in the back garden of your family home. I mean, my dear little sister, how would it be possible for anyone to discover you there, or listen in on you?


    Poor Ella. She would have a few nasty surprises coming for her in the real world.


    I lay on my back, continuing to listen to their conversation. Some part of me was expecting Edmund to make dark and demanding overtures to my sister. I mean, he was a man, after all. But there were only flowery professions of love on both sides.


    A lot of them.


    A really great lot of them.


    Maybe Edmund was actually a nice fellow. I had certainly thought so before this evening - before I had discovered he had his eye on my little sister. Maybe I should not immediately start to think of him as a ruthless rake. From what I could hear, he seemed decent enough, if a little soppy. Maybe I wouldn¡¯t hit him with my parasol just yet.


    ¡®But tell me, my dearest Ella¡­¡¯ he began, frowning slightly. I raised my head. This didn¡¯t sound like another one of those silly love-confessions. ¡®Might we not confide in one person at least? Your elder sister, Lilly I think her name is, of whom you have spoken so fondly?¡¯


    ¡®Oh Edmund! How I would love to do that, to pour out my heart to my dearest sister!¡¯


    ¡®Which one was she, by the way? I have never yet had the pleasure of being introduced to any of your family, I just saw them the other day on the street.¡¯


    Ella smiled. ¡®She was the one who returned your greeting. The only one. Oh, if only I could tell her how much joy she gave me in that moment! How I would love to disclose my love to her, to share with her my happiness!¡¯


    ¡®Then why not do it? She might be sympathetic to our plight.¡¯


    I chewed my bottom lip thoughtfully. Hmm. Maybe, fellow. If you behave.


    ¡®She might also be a valuable ally, my dearest. The word of so good a lady as you described is sure to have weight with your aunt.¡¯


    Oops. Not so much luck there, I¡¯m afraid.


    I looked at Ella through a gap in the bushes. She looked slightly apprehensive. ¡®Err¡­ I don''t know whether telling her about us would be the best idea. Lilly is a wonderful person, only¡­ sometimes I think she is a tiny bit prejudiced against men.¡¯


    What? Me, prejudiced? Me?


    ¡®Prejudiced against men, my love?¡¯ Edmund frowned. ¡®I don''t quite understand. Has a man wronged her in the past?¡¯


    ¡®Not as such. I think it¡¯s rather that she thinks all men wrong her just by breathing.¡¯


    Edmund looked even more puzzled by this.


    ¡®Why?¡¯


    Ella leaned closer to the fence. Looking quickly around her as if she were going to say something very naughty, she whispered in a voice so low I had to strain my ears to catch the words: ¡®You know, I think she secretly wants to be one. A man, I mean.¡¯


    My mouth dropped open. Of all the ridiculous¡­

 Page 38

    I was seriously considering marching over there and giving my little sister a piece of my mind! ¡®Wants to be one¡¯ indeed!


    ¡®How very strange,¡¯ Edmund commented, still puzzled. I glowered at him from behind the bushes. What did he know? He was allowed to vote and to work for a living, and he didn¡¯t have to conceal the fact.


    ¡®That¡¯s what I thought,¡¯ Ella said, nodding eagerly. ¡®However, I may be mistaken. And I really shouldn¡¯t be saying such things. It is not very kind of me, after all, to insinuate that my own sister is stark raving mad. Really, deep down, she is a very gentle soul.¡¯


    Really? I certainly didn¡¯t feel very gentle at the moment!


    ¡®Then why not reveal the truth to her? She might take some time to get used to the idea, but once she got to know me that would surely change.¡¯


    Don¡¯t be so sure.


    ¡®Maybe, but¡­ her reservations regarding men are not the only reason for keeping my silence,¡¯ Ella confessed. Looking around, she continued in hushed whispers: ¡®I have a feeling that if I reveal this dark secret to another soul, somehow it will be revealed to all the world. Sometimes I feel as though there is a sinister figure in the shadows, watching us and listening to every secret word we say.¡¯


    Well, well. My little sister was more intuitive than I would have believed. I had to admit I rather liked being called a sinister figure. It had an interesting ring to it.


    So what are you going to do now, sinister figure in the shadows? I asked myself. You¡¯ve just discovered that your little sister, whom you thought pure as the driven snow, is in fact head over heels in love with some man and is conducting a secret romance in your own back garden! What are you going to do about it?


    The first thing that popped into my mind was telling my aunt. That would put an end to Edmund¡¯s nefarious activities, and my little sister would be out of danger.


    But then¡­ I never told my aunt anything out of principle, and so far it had worked fine for me. Maybe I should be guided by my experience in this case.


    Besides, looking at the expressions on the two lovers¡¯ faces as they stared at each other¡­ it somehow made me feel guilty for even considering to bring an end to their nocturnal meetings. Me, feeling guilty! I never felt guilty! Even when I did something for which I probably should feel guilty. And in this case I wasn¡¯t, was I? I was only trying to protect my little sister.


    ¡®Psht.¡¯ Edmund stepped nearer to her. His hands closed around the iron poles, too. Their fingers were only inches apart now. ¡®Do not be haunted by such dark thoughts, my love. No one is listening. Our secret is safe.¡¯


    Hmm¡­ Was it?


    ¡®We should be talking of happier matters,¡¯ Edmund continued, smiling at Ella in that mushy way that made me want to find a bucket to stick my head into. ¡®We have so little time together - I want to know about your day. You had a big day, today, didn¡¯t you? Your first ball.¡¯


    ¡®Oh how I wished you could have been there,¡¯ Ella sighed, her voice so revoltingly infused with soppiness that it gave me an intense wish for a bucket and a quiet corner. ¡®I would have loved to dance with you.¡¯


    ¡®So would I, believe me, my love. But tell me how it was. Were you much admired? I wager all the other ladies were green with envy at your beauty.¡¯


    ¡®No, of course not!¡¯ Ella blushed, though actually Edmund wasn¡¯t so far from the truth. ¡®Both the gentlemen and the ladies were very considerate, particularly our host.¡¯


    She began to tell of the ball: of how they had been welcomed, of how grand everything had been, of how Sir Philip himself had been so condescending as to dance with her. At first Edmund smiled, but every time she told of how Sir Philip had come back for another dance, his smile waned a little.


    ¡®This¡­ this Sir Philip sounds like the most attentive host I have ever met.¡¯


    ¡®Yes indeed.¡¯ Ella smiled sweetly. ¡®Only think, Edmund, his attentions still continued when I had left his house. He sent me a bouquet of flowers.¡¯


    Those words, however, did not have the positive effect on her lover my sister obviously expected them to have. He paled and took a step back.


    ¡®Flowers?¡¯ he gasped. ¡®To your house on the same evening?¡¯


    ¡®Yes Edmund. But my love, my dearest love, what is the matter? You are suddenly so pale. Tell me, are you ill? What ails you, my love? What is the matter?¡¯


    Looking at Edmund¡¯s face, I knew exactly what was the matter. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn¡¯t knock him out with my parasol after all. It looked as if he¡¯d already been dealt a blow far deadlier than I could deliver - struck down by a bouquet of flowers.


    ¡®Oh God, no,¡¯ he whispered, and I could hear he understood what the flowers meant.


    Ella was staring at the young man, deep concern and longing such as I had never seen before etched into every lovely line of my little sister¡¯s face. It occurred to me that while to me this whole matter of the back garden romance seemed the most ridiculous thing ever, Ella didn¡¯t share that opinion. This was life and death to her.


    I suddenly knew what I had to do.


    ¡®What is it that is wrong?¡¯ My little sister repeated with rising desperation. ¡®Why are you so deathly pale, my love?¡¯


    ¡®Because¡­¡¯ Edmund¡¯s voice broke, and he had to start again. ¡®Because I think Sir Philip Wilkins might¡­¡¯


    He shook his head, unable to complete the sentence.


    ¡®Oh, I may be over-interpreting things. But Ella, love, you must tell me immediately if he should send you any more flowers.¡¯


    An actress would have given her right arm for the perfect expression of puzzled innocence on Ella¡¯s face at that moment. But the problem was: this expression wasn¡¯t fake.


    ¡®Flowers? Edmund, what can be so important about a few flowers?¡¯


    ¡®Just promise me, my love,¡¯ he said with fervour. ¡®If what I believe is correct - oh, I shudder to think of the possibility! If what I think is correct, then every single flower from Sir Philip Wilkins is an arrow straight to my heart.¡¯


    ¡®Then I shall throw them away directly,¡¯ Ella exclaimed, tears in her eyes again. ¡®What are a few flowers to me?¡¯


    ¡®No! You must not do so. You must not do anything that would arouse suspicion.¡¯ Bowing his head against the iron poles and closing his eyes, he murmured: ¡®You were right. I am beneath you. If any suspicions were to enter your aunt¡¯s mind that you had given your heart to me, all would be over between us. Do not throw the flowers away. Do not do anything unusual. Act as though I didn¡¯t exist and you were leading the easy, trouble-free life that you ought to have.¡¯

 Page 39

    I shook my head. Dear me, this was getting a bit thick. Did all people act like this when they were in love, or was it just Edmund?


    ¡®Act as if you didn¡¯t exist?¡¯ cried Ella. ¡®Edmund, without you my life would be nothing! The sun would not rise and all food would turn to ashes in my mouth!¡¯


    Yes. Apparently all people acted like this.


    I didn¡¯t pay much attention to what happened afterwards. Mostly they were talking about stuff that seemed pretty silly to me, like how much they loved each other, what would happen if they didn¡¯t have each other (most of which seemed pretty unrealistic) and then some more about how much they loved each other.


    Finally, when I had almost fallen asleep against the tree, the lovers¡¯ talk was abruptly interrupted by my aunt¡¯s calling from the house.


    ¡®Ella! Ella, where are you girl?¡¯


    Anxiously, my little sister looked over her shoulder.


    ¡®I must go. Farewell, my love,¡¯ she whispered.


    ¡®Farewell, oh sweet Ella, light of my life.¡¯ Edmund hesitated, then plunged on: ¡®May I ask, something of you, before we depart?¡¯


    Instantly I was wide awake! I knew it! I knew now he was going to¡­ well, he was going to do whatever rakes do when they take advantage of innocent girls! I didn¡¯t quite know what that was, though from the insinuations I had read in the papers, it couldn¡¯t be anything good.


    I stood up, preparing to defend my sister from that foul fiend!


    ¡®May I¡­¡¯ he hesitated again. ¡®May I touch the tips of your sweet fingers to carry with me the feeling of your love? Please, my dearest, just extend a hand to me?¡¯


    What? That was all? I wasn¡¯t too versed in rakishness, but I had at least expected something improper. He didn¡¯t even demand a kiss? He had to be kidding! This fellow was too decent to be real.


    ¡®Oh Edmund.¡¯ Again my sister had tears in her eyes, and I was amazed to see her shake her head. ¡®How could I? You know what my dear aunt would say? How could I so lay myself open to her disapproval and that of all my family?¡¯


    ¡®But she will not know.¡¯


    ¡®But my heart and conscience will.¡¯


    I tapped my foot against the ground impatiently. Well now, I was all for morals and stuff - after all, you couldn¡¯t have people running around in the streets naked - but this was taking things a bit too far! Throw the fellow a bone, Ella!


    Then I realized what I had been thinking and scowled. What was wrong with me? I didn¡¯t want them to end up together. Did I? Didn¡¯t I?


    ¡®Please, my love,¡¯ Edmund breathed, leaning closer to the poles separating him from my sister. ¡®Just the tips of your fingers, just once. I need to know that you are real, not some apparition from the realms of angels or fairies that has come to beguile me with its loveliness.¡¯


    ¡®No, Edmund, I can¡¯t¡­¡¯


    But apparently, Ella¡¯s hand and her mouth weren¡¯t quite in agreement about the matter: for while her lips denied him, her small ivory hand reached out, nearing the space between two of the iron poles. Edmund watched it, breathless, and I must admit I was pretty engrossed, too. This was better than the opera. Who knew romance could be this interesting?


    Finally Ella¡¯s fingers slipped between the iron poles, and Edmund¡¯s hands flew forward, taking hold of them.


    ¡®Ella,¡¯ he breathed.


    ¡®Just a swift touch, Edmund, you promised,¡¯ she said, still with tears in her eyes.


    ¡®And I shall keep my word. One touch.¡¯ He led her fingers to his chest, to the left side where his heart was beating, and pressed them to the cloth of his tailcoat.[21] ¡®Here. Feel it, Ella, for it is yours. Now and forever.¡¯


    She gave a shaky nod, not having the words to reply. He let go of her hand, and she withdrew it, turning towards the house and hurrying away like a frightened doe.


    I wandered back into the house some time later, deep in thought.


    Well, well, well. My innocent little sister conducting a secret romance behind everybody¡¯s back. In retrospect I felt like slapping myself for not noticing it earlier. I remembered very well that odd stare Edmund Conway had given me last evening as we had met in the street: yet he hadn¡¯t really been looking at me, I realized now, but rather at Ella, who had been standing right behind me.


    And I had asked Ella what that had been about, and she had lied.


    Ella, lying! The little vixen! A grin spread over my face. I suppose I should have been upset about my own sister lying to me, but to be honest I was delighted to discover she had a share of deviousness. It meant we had something more in common than simply the same parents.


    Now that I thought about it, I remembered, too, that morning when I had first gone to work, and Ella had immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was going off to see some young man. The joy in her face back then - it was the joy of somebody who had her own personal attachment, who knew what it was to love a man and find joy in it.


    I shook my head. Some people really had strange tastes.


    Luckily I wouldn¡¯t have to deal with any men seeking my hand any time soon. The only man I would have to deal with again soon enough would be Mr Rikkard Ambrose, and for that particular relationship I would rather need my own pair of trousers and nerves like steel than flowery bouquets and compliments.


    That night I went to bed with my head full of expectations and designs for the future, both mine and my sister''s. I knew they would be very different futures, but as I looked over at the peacefully sleeping form of my little sister, I vowed that we would both be happy and successful even if I had to twist the arm of fate to achieve it!


    The next morning we were awakened by a vehement knock on the door. Before either Ella or I had the time to rub the sleep out of our eyes, much less call ''enter'', the door was thrown open and a mountain of flowers stumbled in, which on closer inspection revealed itself to be our aunt, carrying a cartload of bouquets and trying to conceal a triumphant smile. She did not do a very good job of the latter.


    ¡®There! There, you see, Ella?¡¯ she exclaimed, dumping her entire load at the foot of my little sister¡¯s bed. ¡®I knew it! I knew your beauty could not fail to capture his attention. You are almost as beautiful as I was at your age.¡¯


    Ella blinked, sleepily - then her eyes widened as she beheld the pile of flora at the foot of her bed.


    ¡®What are these?¡¯ she asked.


    ¡®Flowers from Sir Philip, of course. Get dressed, girls. It is time for breakfast.¡¯

 Page 40

    She rushed out and we did as she had ordered. However, I dressed with even less care than usual. It was rather superfluous, really. It was a weekday. Soon enough I would be exchanging my dress for a pair of trousers.


    I felt a slight tremor run through me at the thought of encountering him again. Fear? No, it couldn¡¯t be fear. I was never afraid.


    We went down and sat down to breakfast. For a change, my aunt was not in a sour mood over my uncle¡¯s absence. Her mind was more pleasantly engaged.


    ¡®Only look!¡¯ she proclaimed, pointing at a particularly extravagant bouquet of large roses. She had ordered Leadfield to place them all around the room in various vases. How she owned that many vases was a mystery to me, since she never would have spared one penny to buy flowers herself. ¡®Such beautiful flowers. This bodes well, don''t you think girls?¡¯


    If she expected a reply to that, she was disappointed. Personally I didn¡¯t think it boded well at all for Ella. Ella, for her part, didn¡¯t seem to think it boded anything at all. Gertrude never spoke unless she had something serious to say, and Anne, Maria and Lisbeth, the only ones probably disposed to agree with Aunt Brank, were too green with envy to open their mouths.


    Not bothered by this lack of enthusiasm, my aunt happily prattled on about her expectations while the rest of us consumed our porridge in silence, until finally somebody felt compelled to open her mouth.


    ¡®To me,¡¯ remarked Gertrude quietly, ¡®the gentleman¡¯s behaviour is not so delightful, my dear aunt. There seems something too rash in his manner. A gentleman must somehow show a lady admiration, that is true, but it is not quite right to be lavishing such expensive attentions on Ella so soon after showing interest in another.¡¯ Her gaze strayed to Maria and Anne, not quite sure on which to settle. They both stared daggers at her.


    ¡®Nonsense,¡¯ replied my aunt, who did not know the meaning of the words ''too rash'' and who would happily have seen three or more of her nieces married to Sir Philip Wilkins if English law had but allowed it. ¡®The more attentions the better. It makes it more likely that we will be able secure him.¡¯


    ¡®Secure him?¡¯ inquired Ella. ¡®For what, pray?¡¯


    ¡®Is it not time to end your play-acting?¡¯ hissed Anne. ¡®You¡¯ve gotten what you wanted, you can boast of it now.¡¯


    Ella blinked at her, dumbfounded.


    Her aunt smiled at her sweetly. ¡®That¡¯s right dear, you go on being modest. It very well becomes you. No need to be so indelicate as to openly discuss the state of affairs until Sir Philip has acted on his resolve.¡¯


    That, I was sure, was a clue big enough that not even Ella could overlook it - but I was mistaken. My little sister appeared just as nonplussed as before. With a shake of the head, I turned from her puzzled countenance and concentrated on my porridge. It was an interesting question how, considering she was so modest as to not be able to see why anybody would want to marry her, she had managed to acquire a lover.


    I would have to ask her that sometime. Or maybe I would find out soon enough by listening. I had already chosen the book I wanted to read that evening, when I would go into the garden again. Maybe I wouldn¡¯t even need it, if the exchange at the fence turned out to be interesting enough.


    The doorbell rang. Leadfield went to answer it and returned with another bouquet, for which my aunt indicated he should find a vase. More flowers arrived for Ella during the course of breakfast.


    I was a liberal-minded person myself, but even I began to find this a bit excessive. Our house was in a fair way to be paved and wallpapered with flowers.


    Now and again, I saw Ella glance at the flowers apprehensively. Every time a new flowery message arrived, she looked more puzzled, but I was sure she would not have been worried about them if not for the words of a certain gentleman.


    Edmund Conway. Every time my thoughts turned to Ella now, my thoughts couldn¡¯t help but turn to him also. It nettled me that my little sister¡¯s happiness depended on a man. Anybody with sense would seek happiness in yourself rather than in another, because yourself you could always rely upon. But then, Ella, for all her loveliness and amiability, had never had much sense.


    It was my job to make up for that. And I would see her happy, or that tradesman¡¯s brat would rue the day he ever thought to play with my little sister¡¯s feelings!


    Still deep in thought, I didn¡¯t look up as Leadfield came in, wheezing under the weight of the latest flowery message that, no doubt, promised marriage bells.


    ¡®Another bouquet from Sir Philip Wilkins for Miss Ella,¡¯ he breathed, as expected, and then added: ¡®And one from another gentleman, for you, Miss Lillian.¡¯


    I nearly bit my spoon in half.


    Return to the Game


    ¡®W-what?¡¯ I gasped.


    ¡®And one from another gentleman, for you, Miss Lillian,¡¯ Leadfield repeated stoically.


    ¡®I heard you the first time! But when? Why? And in God¡¯s name, from whom?¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ they arrived just now, Miss. As to why¡­¡¯ the old butler blushed a little. ¡®Well, I couldn¡¯t say. And from whom¡­ I think I saw a card with the bouquet, but I did not read it.¡¯


    Frantically I sprang up and rushed to Leadfield, desperate to know the name of my hidden enemy. I ripped the card out of the bouquet, unfolded it and read:


    ¡®In memory of the first ball where we did NOT dance together. I am looking forward to changing that soon.


    Lieutenant Ellingham.¡¯


    Only when silence spread over the room did I realize that I had read aloud. The gazes of my entire family turned to me, and I wished heartily that I could sink into the floor and disappear.


    ¡®Who is Lieutenant Ellingham?¡¯ asked Gertrude.


    ¡®He wanted to dance with you?¡¯ asked Maria.


    ¡®Is he a madman?¡¯ asked Anne.


    ¡®What does he mean, ¡°the first ball where you did not dance together¡±?¡¯ asked Lisbeth.


    ¡®He¡¯s an officer,¡¯ my aunt interrupted the barrage of questions, twirling her spoon thoughtfully. ¡®You could do a lot worse, Lillian. Better secure him before he changes his mind. Oh yes, you¡¯d better hurry, before he actually gets to know you.¡¯


    I didn¡¯t really hear any of them. I was still in shock. Lieutenant Ellingham? Lieutenant Ellingham? He wished to make an offer to me? To seek my hand? It seemed hardly creditable.


    Not that I did not believe him capable of flattering himself into the belief I might be attracted to him. From what I had seen so far, he could flatter himself into believing that the sky was brown and the earth blue. But what in the name of Jesus and all his Apostles could make him attracted to me? I had done my very best to be as ghastly to him as humanly possible!

 Page 41

    I looked down at the card again, hoping that maybe it might have disappeared or changed its message. But there it was still, like a massive viper just waiting to bite me. Maybe it was merely a joke. Maybe he wouldn¡¯t show up here after all. Yes, that had to be it. He probably was having fun with his drinking buddies from the regiment, imagining my face at this very moment.


    Resolutely, I crumpled the card and dumped it into my empty porridge bowl.


    ¡®You shouldn¡¯t have done that,¡¯ remarked Maria sweetly. ¡®In your place, I would have framed it and hung it on the wall - because of the scarcity value, you know.¡¯


    Not deigning to give her a reply, I rushed out of the room and into the garden. I did not have the time for either her or the oh-so-funny Lieutenant Ellingham at the moment. It was only an hour till nine o''clock and I needed to get changed.


    If I remembered correctly, Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t tolerate tardiness.


    Wisely I had stashed the clothes I had borrowed from my uncle in the garden shed. Nobody ever came in there, so I changed in the dusty little wooden shack without fear of discovery. I was quite glad, in fact, that I wasn¡¯t putting on the baggy, striped trousers and oversized jacket in my room: there, I couldn¡¯t have helped looking in the mirror. Oh, how I was looking forward to receiving my first pay cheque and buying clothes in which I could pass for an actual gentleman, not just a scarecrow wearing rags three sizes too big for her. Or him. Depending on your point of view.


    Completely attired, I left the garden through the little back door in the wall. This time I had ample time to walk, which was fortunate since I most certainly did not have ample money to pay for another cab ride. I reached Empire House by about a quarter before nine. In the entrance hall, which was as busy as ever, Sallow-face at the front desk let me pass without comment. He had accepted me, apparently. Why couldn¡¯t his master do the same?


    Maybe because he¡¯s an arrogant bastard. Or maybe because he knows you¡¯re a girl. Most probably both.


    But I would be damned if I put up with this any longer! Oh no. I¡¯d force him to look at me, to accept me, to work with me as he would with any man!


    Smiling to myself, I began to ascend the stairs. I knew exactly what I had to do. Since he always locked the door connecting our offices, I would take another route and march in through the main door. Simple. Mr Stone wouldn¡¯t dare stop me, I¡¯m sure. He wasn¡¯t as tough as Sallow-face. And then I would give Mr Rikkard Ambrose a piece of my mind!


    My brilliant plan was smashed into ruins, however, as soon as I stepped into the long hallway at the top of the stairs. Everything was exactly as it should be - Mr Stone was behind his desk, all the doors were closed, the stone walls were still made of bare stone, and the floors were still horizontal. Yes, everything was as it was supposed to be - except for the massive figure towering behind Mr Stone, right in front of Mr Ambrose¡¯s office door.


    The mountainous dark-skinned man wouldn¡¯t have needed to wear his turban or sabre for me to recognize him on the spot; I remembered him all too well. Nevertheless, Karim¡¯s accessories looked impressive. Considerably more impressive than the top hat I had with me.


    Swallowing my apprehension, I walked down the hall.


    ¡®Good Morning, Mr Stone,¡¯ I said.


    ¡®Good Morning, Mr Linton.¡¯


    I stepped past his desk and tried to move towards the office door. Karim did not budge an inch.


    ¡®Excuse me, you¡¯re standing in my way,¡¯ I said.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ he growled. He wasn¡¯t looking at me, but staring straight ahead, which meant he was focusing on a point some five inches above my top hat. He really was big. Too big.


    ¡®Well, would you mind getting out of the way?¡¯ I persisted, trying to shove past him towards the door.


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®But I have to speak to Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    ¡®Yes?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, I do. So will you let me into the office?¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯


    ¡®Why not?¡¯


    At last he seemed to feel that my question merited more than a single syllable. Still staring straight ahead, he proclaimed: ¡®Mr Ambrose is busy.¡¯


    ¡®With what?¡¯


    ¡®With business.¡¯


    ¡®Well, thank you very much for that informative answer! When will he be finished, do you think?¡¯


    ¡®Mr Ambrose is busy for a long time.¡¯


    ¡®He has been like this all day,¡¯ Mr Stone whispered when I turned away angrily. ¡®I must say I am quite perturbed. Karim is Mr Ambrose¡¯s man for¡­ special tasks. You know, um¡­ dangerous matters?¡¯


    He looked around anxiously as if waiting for an assassin to spring from the shadows.


    ¡®He has never been posted here yet, Mr Linton. I am afraid that Mr Ambrose perceives some terrible threat to his person.¡¯


    Oh yes, a very terrible threat, I thought, staring venomously at the bearded figure in front of the door. A girl who doesn''t want to be called ''Mister'' all day! Mr Ambrose¡¯s man for special tasks indeed!


    ¡®Well, I¡¯ll just have to talk to him later then,¡¯ I said to Mr Stone, trying to rein in my stormy temper. ¡®I¡¯d better get into my office and start working.¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes, your work!¡¯ Mr Stone slapped his forehead. ¡®I almost forgot. These arrived for Mr Ambrose early this morning.¡¯


    And he held out a bunch of letters. My brow furrowed in thought. Somewhere I had heard of this. Secretaries took care of their employer¡¯s correspondence, didn¡¯t they? But what exactly did they do with the letters? Read them? Answer them? Eat them for breakfast?


    ¡®Um¡­ what am I supposed do with them?¡¯ I asked.


    If Mr Stone found the question strange, he didn¡¯t let on.


    ¡®You are to separate the important from the unimportant, and only the former is to be given to Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    Taking the letters, I inquired: ¡®And how am I to know what Mr Ambrose considers important?¡¯


    He gave me a little smile. ¡®The answer to that question will determine how long you keep your job here. Good luck.¡¯


    With that he sat down and returned to his own work. I strode over to the door that lead to the room I still had difficulty thinking of as ¡®my office¡¯. But it was. I had an office! Me! Sweet little me! Now all I had to do was keep it¡­


    I laid the ominous pile of letters on my yes - yes, my desk! - and started looking through them.

 Page 42

    There was a stack of invitations to various social events. Hmm. I looked at the firmly closed and bolted door connecting my office with that of my employer. Something told me that Mr Ambrose wasn¡¯t a very social person. Plus, the invitations seemed to be issued by Lady Metcalf and her circle of friends. Apparently, the fine lady was not so disgusted by Mr Ambrose¡¯s working for a living that she didn¡¯t want him at her parties and dancing with her daughters.


    I smiled and, with a great deal of relish, crumpled up those letters and chucked them into the bin.


    Next there were charity requests. I wasn¡¯t sure about those, but put them on the pile to go to his office, just in case. It couldn¡¯t hurt to be charitable, right?


    Then there were a few letters which, on being opened, revealed themselves to be about business. I didn¡¯t understand above one word in ten they said, but it sounded important so I put them on the pile, too.


    Last but not least came a letter like no other: It was no invitation. It wasn¡¯t advertising. And it sure as hell wasn¡¯t business. That was pretty obvious from the fact that it came in a pink, strongly scented envelope.


    ¡®What the¡­¡¯


    I almost broke out laughing when I smelled the perfume! Mr Ambrose had a lady friend? A secret love, maybe? But then I saw the address of the sender and her name. In curly, old-fashioned writing was written:


    Samantha Genevieve Ambrose


    Ambrose? A relative? A sister, maybe? I couldn¡¯t suppress a snort of laughter at that. To be honest, it was even harder to imagine Mr Ambrose as a family man than as a lover.


    Then I noticed something printed next to the address of the sender and frowned.


    ¡®Now what is this doing here¡­?¡¯ I muttered leaning closer.


    If the letter came from Mr Ambrose¡¯s family, the family of a simple, if rich, citizen, how did there come to be a coat of arms stamped on the envelope?


    Quite an elaborate coat of arms, too. I didn¡¯t know much about the nobility, but I knew enough to realize that a crest like this didn¡¯t come from a simple knighthood. The coat of arms had the look of centuries on it: the rose in the upper right and the lion in the lower left corner reminded me of the little I had remembered of my lessons in English history.


    In a flash, I suddenly remembered what one of the ladies at the ball had said¡­ something about a noble family Ambrose in the North. An Earl¡¯s family.


    ¡®I¡¯ll be damned!¡¯


    But no¡­ that couldn¡¯t be. It just couldn¡¯t be Mr Ambrose¡¯s family, could it? If he were an earl¡¯s son, he wouldn¡¯t be calling himself ''Mister'' Ambrose. He would have the right to call himself Baron or Lord Somethingorother.


    Curious. Very curious indeed.


    And who was this lady? Samantha?


    With a slight feeling of regret at letting go of the mystery, I placed the pink letter back on the table. For just a moment I considered throwing it away. It was obviously full of soppy romantic nonsense - nothing important, in my opinion. Yet Mr Ambrose might feel differently about the matter.


    When I rose with all the letters in my hand, I realized for the first time that now was my chance to finally see him again! The thick pile of letters couldn¡¯t fit under the door, so he had to open it. Triumphantly I marched over to the door and raised my hand to knock - only to discover that in my absence, a letter slot had been installed in the middle of the thick wooden door.


    Angrily, I pushed the letters through and heard them land on some kind of table. ¡®Here,¡¯ I called. ¡®I hope you choke on them!¡¯


    Shortly afterwards, the slot opened again and several of the letters fell onto the floor with a resounding ¡®thwack!¡¯ When I went over and picked them up, I saw that it was the charity requests and the letter from Samantha Genevieve - the latter hadn¡¯t even been opened.


    A note was fastened to the top letter:


    Mr Linton,


    Did Mr Stone not express himself clearly? Only send those letters to me which are of interest to me.


    I stared blankly at the note. Was he serious? He hadn¡¯t even bothered to open the pink letter, so clearly personal. Neither had he bothered to sign his message to me, this time - but really there was no need. There was only one person in the entire British Empire who could write like this.


    Angrily I stomped over to my desk, grabbed one of the message papers and a pen and began scribbling.


    Charity is important! Is the improvement of the lives of the poor of no interest to you?


    The reply came almost instantly.


    Not if by so doing they become richer and I poorer.


    ¡®Gah!¡¯


    Grinding my teeth, I took a look around the office: bare stone walls, no ornaments, no carpets, no nothing. Of course! He was mean with money. I should have guessed from the way he dressed - all in simple black without one piece of colourful brocade or silk on his waistcoat. He practically had the word ¡®SKINFLINT¡¯ printed on his forehead. In capitals.


    Too bad he didn¡¯t look like a skinflint. He should be old and ugly and skinny, like my aunt, not some reincarnation of Adonis in granite. That would make working for him so much easier!


    But what about the personal letter? Taking that out of the pile, I examined it closely. It really hadn¡¯t been opened. Who was it from? What was it about? Why hadn¡¯t it been opened? My fingers hesitated over the next piece of message paper. I would have loved to ask but didn¡¯t dare. I didn¡¯t want to get fired on my second day at work.


    So instead I wrote:


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    Be assured that you shall receive no further requests to do good deeds from me.


    Yours Sincerely


    MISS Lilly Linton


    The reply wasn¡¯t long in coming.


    Mr Linton,


    It is not doing good deeds that I object to, it is the principle of charity. I do not give something for nothing. Remember that, Mr Linton.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Dear God, was he threatening me?


    Yes, probably.


    A tingle went down my spine. It felt dangerous, dark and¡­ exciting?


    Then another message popped out of the hole in the wall.


    Mr Linton,


    Bring me file 38XI199.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Spiffing. Here we go again.


    Back and forth, back and forth I went the whole day, like a busy little ant carrying bits of leaves to the hill - only that I carried darn heavy files instead of leaves. Oh, and there also was the fact that ants could lift five times their body weight and that they couldn¡¯t get chucked out of the anthill for not working fast enough.

 Page 43

    Lucky ants.


    I, for my part, heard a fresh plink that announced another demand for a file every five minutes. Apparently Mr Ambrose was still determined to break my resolution and make me give him some excuse for firing me. Ha! That fellow didn¡¯t know me from Adam!


    Or rather Eve, since I was a girl.


    Some part of me wondered what he did with all those files. Surely, a secretary¡¯s duties consisted of more than carrying files? Having letters dictated, for example.


    ¡®Oh, but for that he¡¯d have to actually speak to me,¡¯ I muttered, grabbing another box of files from the shelves. ¡®And he couldn¡¯t do that, now could he! Blast him!¡¯


    While I slaved away, my determination grew. I would keep this job. Moreover, I would make him accept me as a girl, and then I could come to work in my own clothes and stop wearing this stupid top hat! But how to make him accept me?


    ¡®I have to catch him,¡¯ I growled, grabbing the next box and imagining that it was Mr Ambrose¡¯s stiff neck. ¡®I have to grab him and simply make him see!¡¯


    Yesterday, I hadn¡¯t been able to get to him in time, and he had escaped. Today, he had placed his watchdog in front of the door - but he would have to come out eventually. To prevent him slipping away like last time, I cracked my office door open and kept an ear out for any steps moving out there.


    As the day progressed, I got more and more excited. The thought of seeing him again - and of giving him a whopping big piece of my mind - was thrilling. I hadn¡¯t set eyes on him since the day he not-so-graciously accepted me into his service, and I was looking forward to the encounter very much. Hm¡­ Did punching your employer count as grounds for dismissal?


    Too bad I didn¡¯t have my parasol with me.


    Some time around twelve o''clock, the requests for files suddenly stopped.


    Ah! He was preparing to leave. Now he had to be coming soon. I sidled up to the door in anticipation.


    Steps approached my door. What? Was he coming to see me? No, the steps didn¡¯t sound like him. Too slow, too timid. There was a knock on my door and Mr Stone¡¯s voice called: ¡®Mr Linton? May I come in?¡¯


    ¡®Please do,¡¯ I said, stepping back, frowning.


    Mr Stone entered with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. ¡®I am to inform you,¡¯ he said, ¡®that Mr Ambrose has left again and that you can finish your day early, too, if you want to.¡¯


    ¡®What?!¡¯


    ¡®Yes, the strangest matter indeed. He never leaves early normally, and now twice in a row? And this time he even went down the back staircase that is normally never used. I am beginning to fear for our master¡¯s safety.¡¯


    ¡®You are, are you?¡¯ I grabbed my top hat off the desk and slammed it on my head with probably a bit too much force. ¡®Well, you¡¯re right to be!¡¯


    Mr Stone paled. ¡®So you think, too, that his life is in danger? That there is someone after him?¡¯


    ¡®You bet there is,¡¯ I growled and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind me.


    Oh that¡­ I couldn¡¯t even think of a bad enough word for him! The next time I would get my hands on him, I would take one of those little message containers with the words ''I AM FEMALE'' in it and stuff it down his throat!


    I went home to lunch, but since I didn¡¯t have the wherewithal to cope with my aunt¡¯s incessant questions about Lieutenant Ellingham, I made my disappearance as soon as possible. I decided to go the King¡¯s Library to look a few things up. Maybe I¡¯d find an interesting book on China, or a Colonial adventure story, or¡­


    All right, I admit it. I was going to look up Rikkard Ambrose. So what? Was it a crime that I wanted to find out a bit more about the man I worked for? It was only natural that I would like to discover a few more things about him. It might help me avoid such blunders as the one with the charity requests. Maybe I¡¯d discover that he kept a poodle, or was allergic to strawberries, or some other interesting fact.


    Maybe I¡¯d even find out whether he was, as I was beginning to suspect, more than a simple citizen. Books and newspapers could hold all sorts of interesting information.


    Fortunately, unlike riding, shooting and pretty much anything else that I thought might be interesting to do in life, reading was not solely the domain of men. Nobody gave me a second glance as I walked along the gallery of the King¡¯s Library, between the mile-high shelves and imposing busts of historical personalities.


    In passing, I sent up a glare at the busts. ¡®Of course you¡¯re all men,¡¯ I muttered, gesturing up at them threateningly. ¡®It didn¡¯t occur to anyone to put a bust of Queen Elisabeth or Mary Astell up there, did it? Darn chauvinist sculptors!¡¯


    An elderly gentleman passing in the opposite direction stopped when he saw me shaking my fist at the statues, and blinked as if he wasn¡¯t sure he was seeing right. I quickly hurried on to the newspaper section.


    Shortly afterwards I stood in front of a row of shelves, examining the enormous books which contained the Times of the last few decades. Where to start? From the dates on the file boxes I knew his history went back quite some time. So I pretty randomly picked one of the massive volumes. With effort, I managed to get it down from the shelf and transported it to a table next to a bust of Julius Caesar.


    ¡®Hello there, fellow,¡¯ I said, petting Caesar on his head. ¡®Let¡¯s see what we have on Mr Ambrose, shall we?¡¯


    Three hours and seven volumes later, I gave up.


    He was everywhere: always on the edge of things, never quite part of society yet always in the middle because all of society seemed to orientate itself around him. Mr Ambrose had been spotted near the races - but did he bet on a horse? No! Mr Ambrose had been seen talking with business partners outside the theatre. But did he go in? Of course not! Once he had been spotted at the opera but had left before the performance ended.


    What did he do in his free time?


    Where was his family?


    What nefarious activities had he engaged in to amass his enormous fortune?


    There were no articles about his past, not even the indication that at some point he might have given an interview. Nowhere in the dozens of papers I leafed through did I find a single answer to my questions. But then again - why was I so anxious to find out? What business of mine was it how he had gotten his money? Why did I so desperately want to know?


    Deep down I knew why. With a shiver I remembered his words, almost a threat, on that day he had sat opposite me in his office, his dark eyes burning holes into my head:

 Page 44

    I need a man. A man, Miss Linton. Not a girl who will run off screaming at the things she will see where my business takes me.


    By that, I was sure, he had meant more than seeing the inside of file boxes.


    I wanted him to accept me as his secretary. As his female secretary, however scandalous other people would consider that. Yet I was also slightly afraid of what would happen if he did. What would he do if I really managed to convince him to let me work for him for real? Or more importantly, what would I have to do?


    When I got home, my aunt was waiting and ready for battle, glaring at me like an emaciated Valkyrie. I was half expecting her to be holding a sharp spear and riding an eight-legged horse.


    ¡®Where were you?¡¯ she demanded.


    ¡®I was in the park walking, showing off my charms to the young men there,¡¯ I lied brightly. ¡®Just in case I might happen to come across Lieutenant Ellingham.¡¯


    ¡®Oh.¡¯ My aunt¡¯s thin lips relaxed a tiny little bit. ¡®Really? Well¡­ good. That¡¯s very good.¡¯


    ¡®I shall do that often now, if it is all right with you, Aunt,¡¯ I continued quickly, determined to exploit this sudden inspiration to the limits. Darn it! Why hadn¡¯t I thought of this before? ¡®After all, now that I have been introduced into society, there are hundreds of men I could meet. Thousands, in fact. And the more I meet¡­¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re quite right.¡¯ My aunt came up to me. For a moment I was worried that she might want to hug me, which would have been slightly awkward because (a) we were both wearing hoop skirts and (b) I hated her guts, skeleton and strict, black boots. But instead, she merely laid a hand on my arm. It was enough for me to want to run screaming and take a bath in the Thames. ¡®I¡¯m very happy you¡¯ve finally started behaving like a lady, Lilly. I knew you would see sense some day.¡¯


    I thanked her like a proper little lady and then hurried off. Not towards the Thames for a bath, because I knew perfectly well that it was full of dirty toilet paper. Instead, I directed my steps towards the garden.


    Why the garden, you may ask?


    Simple. Over all the questions about Mr Ambrose that were plaguing my poor, chocolate-deprived brain, I had not forgotten my sister and her problems. When I had entered the house, the sun had just been about to set. I knew perfectly well what that meant.


    Ella and Edmund would soon have their nocturnal rendezvous in the garden. So I went out there and this time didn¡¯t even stop to take a book with me. Tonight, I was quite sure, I wouldn¡¯t need literature to take my mind off things. Judging from the number of flowers that had arrived in my absence, the evening¡¯s conversation would provide more than enough distraction.


    As soon as the moon rose over the streets of London, I heard a rustle from the door and, through the bushes behind which I had concealed myself again, saw Ella hurrying past. Only a moment later, Edmund appeared on the other side of the fence.


    ¡®Ella, my love,¡¯ he called in a damnably audible whisper. ¡®Oh, how it fills my heart to see you!¡¯


    ¡®And mine,¡¯ sighed Ella. Then she hesitated. ¡®I mean my heart is filled with joy from seeing you, not from seeing myself. That would be silly. I see myself every morning in the mirror.¡¯ She brightened. ¡®But now you are here!¡¯ She exclaimed. ¡®I have been waiting all day to see you!¡¯


    ¡®Your words make my soul sing, Ella. Please, step closer, into the moonlight, so I may behold your lovely face.¡¯


    ¡®I will. But first¡­ first I have to tell you something, Edmund.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ he asked, his breath catching.


    ¡®It is the strangest thing,¡¯ Ella muttered. ¡®I would not even mention such a strange, trivial occurrence if not for your words yesterday, but¡­¡¯


    ¡®But what? My words yesterday? What words?¡¯ Now I could hear a distinct note of anxiety in Edmund¡¯s voice.


    It must have shown on his face, too, because Ella smiled at him hesitantly, caught off guard by his expression. ¡®Well¡­ what you said about the flowers. You remember? You told me to tell you if Sir Philip sent me any more flowers.¡¯


    I glanced at the young man. Now the expression on his face wasn¡¯t simply anxious anymore. It was panicked.


    ¡®Yes, and? Has he sent you another bouquet?¡¯


    ¡®One?¡¯ Ella giggled. ¡®No, not one. I tell you, the man must be very eccentric, I cannot otherwise account for his behaviour. He sent me dozens of bouquets. I had no idea there were that many flowers to buy in the whole city of London. I¡­¡¯ She broke off when she saw Edmund¡¯s face.


    ¡®Edmund? Edmund, what is wrong? What ails you?¡¯


    ¡®My heart is breaking,¡¯ he answered tonelessly, staring into the distance with empty eyes. ¡®That is what ails me. It is as I thought. I am doomed.¡¯


    I leaned forward, resting my head on my knees. This was good. Better than the theatre, except that I couldn¡¯t throw peanuts at the actors. I doubt Ella would have appreciated that.


    ¡®What is the matter?¡¯ My little sister wrung her hands in sudden desperation. ¡®Oh Edmund, reveal to me this terrible secret you are carrying! What is it about those flowers that makes you fear them like death itself?¡¯


    ¡®Worse than death,¡¯ he mutters. ¡®A thousand deaths and the tortures of hell.¡¯


    Dear me! That fellow had definitely read too many romantic novels. I considered interrupting and telling him he was overdoing it.


    But then, on second thoughts, maybe I¡¯d rather not.


    ¡®Tell me, Edmund! Tell me, what are they?¡¯


    ¡®The flowers are a sign of affection,¡¯ said Edmund, his voice as hollow as a drainpipe through which all his hopes were flooding away. ¡®Sir Philip wishes to seek your hand in marriage.¡¯


    Ella stiffened. All colour drained from her face. I covered my eyes with my hand and let it slip down my face. Good God in heaven, she was actually surprised.


    ¡®No!¡¯


    ¡®Yes, he does.¡¯


    ¡®No, Edmund¡­¡¯


    ¡®And who can blame him?¡¯ he continued. ¡®You are indeed a fair maiden, Miss Linton. Every gentleman in England should be seeking your hand. You¡­¡¯ his voice broke, and after a moment he continued: ¡®You are far too good and beautiful for common folk.¡¯


    ¡®Edmund! What are you saying?¡¯ She cried out.


    ¡®I am saying goodbye, Miss Linton.¡¯

 Page 45

    ¡®Goodbye? Edmund, why do you torture me so? And why so distant? Why call me Miss Linton?¡¯


    ¡®You are right,¡¯ he said in the same hollow voice. ¡®I should call you Lady Wilkins. For that is who you soon shall be.¡¯


    Apparently, I had been wrong before: Ella had still some colour left to drain from her face. It vanished at Edmund¡¯s words, plummeting towards the earth¡¯s core.


    Suddenly not at all amused by the scene, I sat up straight, staring whole arsenals of daggers at Edmund.


    What was that bastard doing? Was he so heartless that he could just stand there and hurt my little sister? He should be pulling her into his arms and telling her all would be all right! After climbing over the fence, that is.


    ¡®I will never marry Sir Philip,¡¯ Ella proclaimed. ¡®Never!¡¯


    ¡®But why not?¡¯ Edmund asked, his voice still as hollow and dead as an entire graveyard. ¡®Is he not a most eligible match?¡¯


    ¡®I do not care how eligible he is,¡¯ sniffled Ella, taking two rapid steps towards the fence. Edmund stepped back hastily as she stuck her hand through the poles, trying to reach him. ¡®I¡­ I¡­¡¯


    ¡®Yes? You?¡¯ he inquired and his voice wasn¡¯t quite as dead as before.


    ¡®I love you, Edmund.¡¯


    ¡®Ah. A platonic love, surely, since you are soon to be married?¡¯


    ¡®No! A lover¡¯s love, Edmund. If I could, I would be thine, to have and to hold.¡¯


    ¡®Oh Ella! Come into my arms!¡¯


    What the heck? Just ten seconds ago he was egging her on to marry somebody else, and now he wanted them to snuggle? If all lovers behaved like this, they should be summarily committed to lunatic asylums!


    Surely, Ella would be too proud and self-respecting to throw herself at a man who had just scorned her?


    ¡®Oh, Edmund, my love!¡¯


    No, apparently she wasn¡¯t.


    I watched in mingled horror and fascination as she indeed threw herself into his arms, or at least as well as she could with the fence in the way. I wondered how long it was going to take one of them to think of the ladder leaning against the garden shed. Probably a good long time still.


    Anyway, both of them seemed to be much too honourable to just throw themselves at each other. I had expected at least some action and was a tiny bit disappointed when they only took hold of each other¡¯s hands and stared into each other¡¯s eyes. I had seen both of their pairs of eyes before. They weren¡¯t that interesting.


    ¡®So you do not simply feel friendship for me?¡¯ Edmund demanded, his voice deep with emotion. ¡®There is more?¡¯


    A little colour returned to Ella¡¯s cheeks. ¡®You know there is.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, but the delight of hearing you say it¡­¡¯ He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing blissfully. ¡®There is no song of angels that is sweeter to my ears.¡¯


    Yes. He really read too many romance novels.


    My little sister, not in the least repelled by his sappiness, took one of his hands and lightly pressed it to her cheek. Now we were getting somewhere!


    ¡®I love you, Edmund.¡¯


    When Edmund opened his eyes again, they looked a little more interesting than before. Certainly more intense.


    ¡®As I love you, Ella, my heart¡¯s delight.¡¯


    ¡®Oh Edmund. You do not know how long I have been waiting for you to say these words to me.¡¯


    ¡®They have lain ready on my tongue forever.¡¯


    He pressed her hands again.


    ¡®So you will be mine?¡¯


    Suddenly, the colour left Ella¡¯s cheeks again. The radiant smile that had lit up her features until a moment ago became laced with sadness.


    ¡®Edmund, I¡­¡¯


    ¡®What? What is this? You said you loved me!¡¯


    ¡®I do! I do! But¡­¡¯


    Now there again were tears in Ella¡¯s eyes. She didn¡¯t seem to be able to continue. So Edmund spoke for her, slowly and gravely:


    ¡®But the objections to our love which you so conscientiously explained to me before, still stand. Nothing has changed. The fact that we love each other does not mean that we can be together.¡¯


    Ella gave a shaky little nod.


    ¡®What if you told your aunt that you did not love Sir Philip?¡¯


    ¡®I? Defy my dear, dear aunt? Oh please!¡¯ She clasped her hands in supplication. ¡®Please don''t even make me think of such a thing!¡¯


    ¡®Then what do we do?¡¯ he asked, sounding lost.


    ¡®I don''t know!¡¯


    Behind the bushes, I bit my lower lip, deep in thought. Well, I didn¡¯t know either. But I¡¯d be damned if that was going to stop me from doing something! At least I had plenty of time on my hands. My new job with Mr Ambrose was not very demanding. He didn¡¯t seem to want anything from me at all.


    Had I only known then how wrong I was about that.


    The Discovery


    The next day I noticed that I was quite distracted by Ella¡¯s troubles. Do you want to know how I noticed? It wasn¡¯t that I forgot to go to work, oh no. I forgot to change before going to work and almost walked up to Mr Stone¡¯s desk in a long dress and hoop skirt, announcing myself as ¡®Mr Linton¡¯.


    That would have been a real scandal for Mr Ambrose to worry about!


    I noticed my wrong attire just in time and had to hurry back and change in a wild frenzy. By the time I had run back to Empire House it was already nine o''clock. I hurried up the stairs and into my office, only giving Mr Stone a brief nod in passing. My desperate lungs lacked the air for a proper greeting. Wheezing, I collapsed onto my chair and let my head fall onto the table.


    Just then, a message container flew out of the tube with a quiet plink. With the one hand I felt capable of moving I picked it up, opened it and unrolled the message. My eyes focused on the words:


    Mr Linton


    You are 1 minute and 37 seconds late. If that occurs again, you can consider yourself dismissed.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    This chap really knew how to give you a warm welcome. For a moment I considered telling him about my sister¡¯s romantic troubles, to make an excuse. But then I decided against it. It would be like trying to explain dancing the polka to a rock in the desert. He just wouldn¡¯t get it.


    Next I considered going over there and skinning him alive. But that might not be so great an idea either. First of all, it might get me sacked. Secondly, I couldn¡¯t muster the energy to get up. And thirdly, the blasted door was still locked anyway!

 Page 46

    A plink announced the arrival of the next message.


    It appeared that I had to get up, whether I had the energy or not! The message read:


    Mr Linton,


    Fetch file S39XX300


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    Spiffing! Simply Spiffing! Here we go again. Rising, I started towards the rows of shelves. But then I hesitated.


    Wait just a moment¡­ file S39XX300?


    I frowned. The numbering systems for the files didn¡¯t start with letters, did it? It always started with numbers proclaiming the years of the file¡¯s origin. The 39 in the name probably stood for 1839, this very year, but ''S''? What did that stand for? Snoop? Saucy? Silly?


    I went looking under 39 because I didn¡¯t know what else to do. Ten minutes later, I had three open boxes standing before me and a volcano rumbling somewhere inside me.


    Dear Mr Ambrose


    There is no file S39XX300. I cannot find it.


    Yours sincerely


    Miss Lilly Linton


    The reply came immediately.


    Mr Linton,


    There IS a file S39XX300 Have you looked in the safe?


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    What the heck?


    Dearest Mr Ambrose,


    I did not know there was a safe here. Might I inquire why you neglected to tell me this?


    Yours always


    Miss Lilly Linton


    Angrily I shoved the message into the tube and waited. Only half a minute later, a plink announced the answer.


    Mr Linton,


    You might indeed enquire. It is because I expect my employees be capable of independent thought. The ''S'' stands for safe. If that is too difficult for you to comprehend, then maybe you should look for another post. One more fitted to your limited intellectual capabilities.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    The arrogant¡­ ¡®limited intellectual capabilities¡¯? Gah! I didn¡¯t even know what names to call him! The newspaper articles about women¡¯s insufficient brain size and all the other arguments against our working and voting came to mind. Oh how I would have loved to skin that man alive. And then maybe roast him slowly over an open fire¡­


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    I will go looking for the safe directly. Do not fear - even my limited mental capacity should be sufficient to find a big metal box.


    Yours always (Which means you¡¯re not getting rid of me!)


    Miss Lilly Linton


    I stood up. I went looking. I found the safe. It took me only five minutes and then I was back at my desk - still without file S39XX300, for a very simple reason. Fuming, I grabbed a message slip from the bowl and scrawled four simple words on it.


    The safe is locked!


    Had he been waiting for me to write that? Because the reply came almost instantly.


    Mr Linton,


    It is locked to keep things safe. That is why it is called a safe.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Gah! Was this man trying to drive me crazy? Well¡­ probably. To hell with him!


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    I know it what a safe is, thank you very much. And I know it is locked, because I have tried to open it and not succeeded, as mentioned before. WHERE IS THE KEY?


    Yours Sincerely


    Miss Lilly Linton


    I pushed the message into the tube with maybe a bit more force than necessary and pulled the lever. His answer came as quick as ever.


    Mr Linton,


    Writing in capitals is not as quick or efficient as writing in normal letters. Please refrain from such time-wasting habits while in my employ. The key I have already pushed under the door, as any observant employee would have noticed.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Muttering some not very polite things about Mr Ambrose, I went over to the door and fetched the key. Then I returned to the back of the room where, in a small niche I hadn¡¯t noticed before today, a big, black metal door had been inserted into the wall, with the word ''Ambrose'' written in simple steel letters at the top. I wondered for a moment why he would feel the need to write his name on his own safe. Did he have that bad a memory? Then I realized that it was probably the name of the manufacturer. So he made safes, did he? What else did he do?


    Pushing the thought aside and the key into the lock, I turned it and opened the door. It went smoothly and without even squeaking. Sleek and impenetrable, just like its maker.


    I had expected a metal container of maybe about three square feet to lie beyond. Instead I found myself facing the gloom of an enormous steel room, larger than my office, with scores of objects on the shelves that lined the walls.


    There was everything from the mundane file box to strange rocks, painted wooden idols and large scrolls of parchment that looked as though they had already lived through several centuries. What the hell were these? If Mr Ambrose was an industrialist as the duchess had suggested, where had he gotten these from? They didn¡¯t look like anything coming out of a factory.


    On the contrary - they spoke of distance, danger, mystery.


    Resisting my mighty urge to go and investigate, I turned towards the file boxes and examined their numbers, one by one. There was an S39XX299 and an S39XX301 - but no S39XX300. What was he playing at? Did he do that on purpose?


    I marched back to my desk and composed a fitting message. I even managed not to put any swear words in.


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    There is no box S39XX300.


    Yours Sincerely


    Miss Lilly Linton


    The message container returned. Pulling it open, I read:


    Mr Linton,


    I told you to look in the safe.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    This was getting to be a bit too much!


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    I did look in the safe. It is not there. If you cannot understand my written messages, I would offer you to read my lips. But unfortunately that is not possible since the door to your office is still locked. So let me say it in plain English once again: There is no box S39XX300 in the safe.


    Yours Sincerely


    Lilly Linton


    When his reply came, the letters were a bit different. Not a hasty scrawl, no - they were as clear and legible as always. But one could be led to think that he had pressed the pen slightly harder on the paper as he scratched those words. Wait¡­ He had the gall to be getting angry? He?


    Mr Linton,


    If by this subterfuge you think you can make me open my door so you can air your grievances, you are very much mistaken. Bring me file box S39XX300 or you can consider yourself dismissed.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    The thunderclouds of my temper began to gather, reading those words. But simultaneously I felt a tingling sensation run down my spine. This box seemed to be pretty important - and it wasn¡¯t where it was supposed to be. What was going on?

 Page 47

    Led by this strange feeling, my reply to Mr Ambrose was considerably more conciliatory than it ordinarily would have been.


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    Whatever you may think of my intelligence, it is not so slight as to risk my future merely to get a look at your profile. You are not that nice-looking. The box in question is really not here.


    Miss Lilly Linton


    My heart rate picked up as I pushed the message container into the tube. Would he believe me or just fire me? Did the box he wanted even exist, or was it just an excuse to get rid of me?


    I looked around the bare room and felt a lump rising in my throat. Although I didn¡¯t want to admit it, I had already become accustomed to the stark surroundings, accustomed to the idea that this place was mine, my own way to freedom. What would I do if I lost it?


    Slowly I pulled the lever, and my message disappeared into the tube.


    The answer came not long after. I opened and unrolled it - and my eyes widened. If the situation hadn¡¯t been so serious, the reply would have made me laugh!


    Mr Linton,


    Do you give me your word of honour as a gentlema- as a lad- as an honourable person that you are speaking the truth?


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    Somehow I couldn¡¯t keep a slight grin from my face as I wrote the reply.


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    I give you my word of honour as a lady who wears trousers that there is indeed no box of the aforementioned number/name in your safe.


    Miss Lilly Linton


    There was no reply. Nothing. For two entire minutes I sat there and waited, but nothing came. I had almost given up waiting and was chastising myself for my silly fancies. The box probably wasn¡¯t important at all. It was probably some old box he had mistakenly thrown away. That had to be all.


    I had almost convinced myself of that explanation.


    Then I heard the rustle of keys from the other side of the room. My head snapped up just in time to see the connecting door to Mr Ambrose¡¯s office swing open.


    The moment I saw him I knew I had been wrong. Wrong about two things, to be exact:


    Firstly, the missing file box was important.


    And secondly, seeing his profile might actually be worth losing your job over.


    There he stood: a lean figure, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, revealing taut muscles in his upper arms. In his black tailcoat, trousers and shirt he looked like some menacing manifestation of the night, come to banish the day before it was time. The fact that he had a face that seemed to have been cut from a mountain by some ancient master didn¡¯t hurt either. I was paralysed in my chair - not with fear exactly. No, certainly not! I would never be afraid! Rather with¡­ oh, I didn¡¯t know! Whatever it was, I had to get a grip, and fast!


    ¡®Mr Linton.¡¯ His voice was just as I remembered it. Cold and clipped. He nodded at me, but before I could even open my mouth or think of a reply, he had marched past me. I stared after him until he vanished between the shelves at the other end of my office.


    Mister Linton? Mister Linton? So he was still going to keep that up, even now that he was forced to talk to me again?


    My paralysis suddenly lifted, and I jumped to my feet. I¡¯d show him! I¡¯d show that son of a bachelor!


    With three quick steps I was between the shelves. There was no sign of him there, but the door to the safe still stood open. He was in there.


    For one moment I was tempted to shove the door closed and lock it - but no. If I ever did choke him, I wanted my hands around his throat. Letting him suffocate in an airtight safe was much too impersonal.


    Taking a deep, relaxing breath, I stepped in after him - and stopped in my tracks.


    The inside of the safe room was a mess. Files were scattered everywhere on the floor. Standing before the shelves containing the boxes, Mr Ambrose was thoroughly busy dismantling and examining every part of every file box he could find, and once he was done with them, throwing them over his shoulder onto the floor. He was like a ravenous animal burrowing through the carcass of a deer. The only difference was: while a ravenous animal might have found what it needed to still its hunger in a carcass, he appeared to come up blank.


    ¡®It must be here,¡¯ he muttered. ¡®It must be!¡¯


    ¡®What must be here?¡¯ I asked. He completely ignored me. By Jove,[22] what a surprise!


    Why did I even bother to ask? I knew what he was looking for, didn¡¯t I? File S39XX300. But what was so bloody important about that file?


    ¡®It must be here. It must be.¡¯ He didn¡¯t say it angrily as such - but the determination in his words was like iron. Hundreds of files, which before had been in impeccable order, now lay scattered all over the metal floor of the safe, and still he continued his wild hunt.


    I stood mute at the door and watched him. Even had I known how to help, I wouldn¡¯t have dared get in his way. It took him about half an hour to turn the orderly file boxes into a monumental mess. Finally, the very last file was in his hand. He looked at the number and let it drop to the floor with a clatter.


    He stood like that for a moment, rock-still.


    Then he whirled around. The look in his dark eyes made me retreat a step.


    ¡®You!¡¯ he hissed, coldly. He didn¡¯t say anything more. He didn¡¯t need to. I knew it was an accusation. My breathing sped up.


    Dear God! He suspected me of stealing the file! Me! Sweet little me!


    What was he going to do? Call the police? Looking into his eyes, somehow I doubted that. I remembered Karim and the huge sabre, and my heart sped up some more.


    ¡®Where is it?¡¯ he asked.


    ¡®Th-the file? I d-don''t know.¡¯


    In two steps, he was in front of me. Hell¡¯s whiskers! I hadn¡¯t noticed how tall he was before. He was towering over me.


    Why the hell was I so nervous? What could he do to me, anyway?


    Well¡­ looked pretty sharp the last time you saw it, don¡¯t you think?


    He wouldn¡¯t harm me, would he?


    ¡®Tell me what you have done with the file,¡¯ he said in his usual cold, hard voice, ¡®or you will learn how to swim face down in the Thames tonight.¡¯


    All right¡­ that answered my question pretty succinctly. My whole body felt cold all of a sudden. Darn! Was he being serious?


    I looked into his eyes.


    Yes, he was. Absolutely serious.


    ¡®You¡­ you wouldn¡¯t dare!¡¯ I managed to whisper.


    ¡®Really?¡¯ Raising his hand, he counted dispassionately: ¡®Firstly, nobody knows you are really here. You do not exist, Mr Victor Linton.¡¯

 Page 48

    His lips didn¡¯t curve into a derisive smile, but even without that I could hear the cold venom he put into my invented name.


    ¡®Nobody will care if you vanish, and nobody will connect your disappearance to the death of some young poor lady found drowned in the Thames,¡¯ he continued.


    He extended a second finger. ¡®Secondly, I have very discreet associates. It would be a marvel if your body was even found.¡¯


    Another finger. He caught my gaze with his, and held it. ¡®Thirdly, look at me. Look into my eyes and then tell me again I would not dare to get rid of you.¡¯


    Well, at least I now knew one thing. He was no industrialist who had made his fortune by producing tin cans or porcelain figurines. He was something else entirely.


    ¡®Where,¡¯ he asked in a voice so low I almost didn¡¯t catch it, ¡®is the file. Last chance, Mr Linton.¡¯


    ¡®I¡­ I¡­¡¯ Dammit, what was happening to me? I could feel my whole body beginning to shake, and my eyes felt strange. They felt as if they were¡­ wet.


    Oh no! No, no, no and no again! I was not going to cry like some little girl! Not in front of him. Not now. I was going to be brave and prove to him that I was just as good as any man and¡­ and¡­


    I started to cry.


    I admit it, all right? I started to cry.


    ¡®I¡­ I don''t know,¡¯ I sniffled, lowering my head and searching desperately for a handkerchief. But these were my uncle¡¯s trousers, and he never went out, so there were no handkerchiefs in his pockets. Hurriedly, I tried to wipe away the tears with my sleeve before he could see them. ¡®I didn¡¯t take your file! I didn¡¯t! I¡­¡¯


    I blinked up at him, breathing heavily. What was he going to do now? Call his henchmen and have me killed?


    To my surprise I saw him not where he had been a moment ago. He had retreated a few steps. The ice had gone out of his eyes, and he was standing in a slightly awkward position, his hands tugged into the pockets of his waistcoat as if he didn¡¯t know what to do with them.


    ¡®Um¡­ here,¡¯ he muttered. Pulling one of his hands out of the pocket, he handed me a clean white linen handkerchief.


    ¡®You just threatened to kill me and now you¡¯re offering me a handkerchief?¡¯ I asked, tearfully.


    He shrugged, and the awkwardness vanished as he fixed me with his eyes again. ¡®I can hardly question you further while you are¡­ leaking like this. It is noisy and messy. Put an end to it. Now!¡¯


    Taking the handkerchief, I blew my nose in a noisy and not very ladylike manner. Then I held it out to him.


    ¡®Here.¡¯


    He shook his head.


    ¡®You don''t want it back?¡¯


    ¡®Are you mad?¡¯ he demanded. ¡®Of course I do! That thing cost three shillings and tuppence! I would simply be very obliged if you washed it before giving it back, though.¡¯


    ¡®Oh¡­ err¡­ of course I will.¡¯ I paused. ¡®If you don''t kill me, that is,¡¯ I added, as an afterthought.


    ¡®Oh, that.¡¯ He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Mr Ambrose, uncomfortable? What was this?


    Finally he waved deprecatingly. ¡®I have thought of a better way. A way I can determine whether you are guilty or innocent.¡¯


    ¡®Well, I¡¯m very glad to hear it.¡¯


    ¡®I imagine so.¡¯ Straightening into his usual erect pose again, Mr Ambrose clapped his hand. ¡®Karim!¡¯


    He hadn¡¯t even called very loudly, and there was a locked door in the way. There was no way the big bearded fellow could have heard him.


    ¡®You called, Sahib?¡¯


    With a yelp, I sprang back and whirled to see the Mohammedan standing right behind me, towering in the safe¡¯s doorway.


    With a curt wave, Mr Ambrose directed him back into my office.


    ¡®Search the room. File S39XX300.¡¯


    Apparently, Mr Ambrose was as economical with his words as with his money and facial expressions. Karim didn¡¯t need any more explanation. He went back into my office. Soon after, I heard the noise of drawers being opened.


    ¡®So what is it?¡¯ I asked. ¡®This better method that does not require me to learn to swim with my lungs full of water?¡¯


    Was my voice steady? I thought it was. I probably should have been more scared, but somehow this felt unreal. I was discussing with a practical stranger his reasons for not wanting to kill me. Was this really happening?


    ¡®Well, you did not have the keys for the safe until today,¡¯ Mr Ambrose reasoned, his gaze wandering up and down my body in a strange manner. ¡®I do not believe you are capable of cracking a safe. Ergo, if you took the file, you must have done it today. And if it is not in your office, you must still have it on you.¡¯


    ¡®And?¡¯ I asked. ¡®What do you intend to do now?¡¯


    His gaze went up and down my body again. ¡®As I said,¡¯ he repeated, his dark, sea-coloured eyes intent. ¡®You must have it on you.¡¯ He took a step towards me.


    And suddenly I understood.


    My hands shot up to shield me. ¡®Oh no. No, nononono, Mister! Don¡¯t even think about it!¡¯


    I Defend my Honour, More¡¯s the Pity


    He cocked his head.


    ¡®No?¡¯


    ¡®No! Definitely no! Despite what you have been trying to tell yourself, I am still a girl and I am most definitely not going to let you rummage around in my knickers!¡¯


    ¡®You would rather end up face-down in the Thames?¡¯


    ¡®I would rather that you trusted me!¡¯


    ¡®Trust¡­¡¯ The word came slowly over his sculpted lips as if he hadn¡¯t used them in a very long time. ¡®Mister Linton¡­ in Russia they have a saying about that. Do you know it, Mr Linton?¡¯


    He took a step closer.


    ¡®How the heck should I? I¡¯m not Russian!¡¯


    ¡®The saying is: ¡°trust, but verify¡±.¡¯ He took a step closer again. ¡®I do not subscribe to that saying. I never trust. But I always verify.¡¯


    ¡®You are not getting me out of my dress so you can rummage around in my underwear!¡¯ I declared, maybe a bit too forcefully. That was largely due to the fact that a part of my mind was occupied with how it would feel to have him rummage around in my underwear. And another part of my mind was busy being furious at the aforementioned part of my mind for having such thoughts.


    ¡®You are not wearing a dress, but trousers,¡¯ he pointed out in his usual cold, curt manner.


    ¡®Whatever! Are you a gentleman, Sir, or a cur?¡¯

 Page 49

    ¡®That depends on the necessities of the situation.¡¯


    ¡®And in this situation?¡¯


    ¡®Give me back the file, Mr Linton, and I will not have to search you.¡¯


    ¡®For the hundredth time, I do not have it!¡¯


    ¡®For the fourth time, actually,¡¯ he corrected. ¡®Do not exaggerate.¡¯


    Heavy footsteps approached. They needed a few seconds to break through my concentration, and it was the same with Mr Ambrose. We were glaring at each other with such intensity that at first we didn¡¯t notice the giant bearded figure who had appeared in the doorway.


    Finally, Mr Ambrose wrenched his gaze away from me.


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ he asked.


    Karim shook his weighty turban and beard, as well as the head that was squeezed in between. ¡®Nothing, Sahib.¡¯


    At which Mr Ambrose¡¯s gaze returned to me with double intensity.


    ¡®You know what that means, Mister Linton?¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ I snapped. ¡®And don''t call me Mister!¡¯


    ¡®It means that I have no choice but to search you.¡¯


    ¡®No!¡¯ I crossed my arms. He wasn¡¯t going to touch me! Not ever!


    Well, not that I really would have minded so much. But if I would ever let him take a closer look at my underwear, it would not be to search it for some stupid paper, thank you very much! I mean, every girl has to have some self-respect.


    Self-respect? my inner feminist screamed at me. Under what circumstances do you think him taking a look at your underwear would be all right with your self-respect? Have you forgotten that you despise men in whatever form they come?


    ¡®Karim?¡¯ Mr Ambrose said, darkly. ¡®I¡¯m going to take care of this. Close the safe door and lock us in. Open it only when I call again.¡¯


    My eyes widened. I rushed towards the door, but before I could reach it the huge Mohammedan had slammed it shut and plunged us into utter darkness.


    ¡®Ouch!¡¯


    ¡®Ng!¡¯


    ¡®Let go!¡¯


    ¡®Stop wriggling you¡­¡¯


    Slap!


    The noise echoed quite loudly in the dark, hollow room. There were a few seconds of silence, then I heard Mr Ambrose¡¯s calm voice - calm in the way a volcano was calm before the explosion.


    ¡®Karim? Karim, open the door again.¡¯


    Slowly, the door slid open, admitting a brilliant ray of sunlight that cut through the darkness like a red hot knife through butter. It fell on Mr Ambrose¡¯s face, which also was pretty much red hot, at least in the places where my hand had made contact with his cheek.


    ¡®You,¡¯ he said decidedly, his jaw taut, ¡®are either as guilty as the devil himself or have more morals than apparent at first sight.¡¯


    I narrowed my eyes. ¡®What is that supposed to mean, ¡°more than apparent at first sight¡±?¡¯


    ¡®It is supposed to mean more morals than one would expect from a girl who runs around dressed in men¡¯s clothes!¡¯


    ¡®Hey, this was your idea, remember?¡¯


    ¡®An idea I thought no sane individual would take seriously.¡¯


    ¡®Well, I have, and now I¡¯m here. So what are you going to do with me?¡¯


    His threatening sea-coloured eyes fixed on my face again.


    ¡®I must search you, Mr Linton. It is useless to resist.¡¯


    The fellow had just intended to undress me and he was still calling me ¡®Mister¡¯? This was unbelievable!


    ¡®Why should I steal your stupid file?¡¯ I shouted. ¡®I don''t even know what¡¯s in it!¡¯


    ¡®You could have been put up to it.¡¯


    ¡®By whom?¡¯


    ¡®By one of the men who want me ruined and dead.¡¯


    He said that so coldly, so calmly, that it cut right through my anger. I looked closer and saw that behind his granite fa?ade, emotions were boiling inside him. He was just too stubborn to admit it.


    ¡®What¡¯s so important about that file?¡¯ I asked, softly. Well, relatively softly, anyway.


    ¡®If you took it, you already know,¡¯ was his response. ¡®And if you didn¡¯t, I will not tell you.¡¯


    ¡®Why not?¡¯


    ¡®I do not have to explain myself to you!¡¯


    ¡®So what now?¡¯ I asked again.


    ¡®I could tie you down to search you,¡¯ he threatened.


    ¡®You could try.¡¯ My hands came up defensively again. Unconsciously, Mr Ambrose¡¯s hand went to his cheek, and I had to grin. Was I crazy? It was still a very real possibility that I would end up face-down in the Thames today, and here I was, grinning like a Cheshire cat.


    But I just couldn¡¯t help being excited! This was the first half-way thrilling thing to have happened in my massively mundane life.


    Mr Ambrose noticed my grin. Just before he turned to his turban-wearing henchman, I thought I could see a faint scowl on his face. What? I had elicited a facial expression from Mr Granite Face? Surely not!


    ¡®Karim? Would you be so good as to search her?¡¯ Mr Ambrose inquired.


    The Mohammedan¡¯s eyes flickered to me for a moment. He stood straighter and gripped the hilt of his sabre.


    ¡®I would fight an Ifrit[23] for you, Sahib¡­ but this creature?¡¯ He gave me a look that reminded me of the way my aunt always looked at me. ¡®I must respectfully decline.¡¯


    ¡®I thought so,¡¯ nodded Mr Ambrose.


    ¡®What in God¡¯s name is an Ifrit?¡¯ I demanded.


    ¡®A powerful half-demon from Arabian mythology,¡¯ Mr Ambrose informed me. ¡®They are over twelve feet tall, armed with huge swords and have fists and wings that burn with hellfire.¡¯


    Dear me. I had no idea Karim thought so highly of me.


    Mr Ambrose started pacing up and down with long, measured strides. I watched him carefully, my heartbeat still not returned to its normal rhythm. With his impassive face, fathomless eyes and long black tailcoats fluttering behind him like bat wings, he really looked more than a little intimidating. For a moment, I considered running. Maybe I could make it to the hallway and scream for help. Mr Stone would hear me. Maybe he would run for the police.


    Karim met my eyes. His small, beady specimens weren¡¯t quite as impressive as those of his master, but his were full of suspicion and animosity.


    ¡®I sent Stone away,¡¯ he stated. ¡®The door to the hallway is locked.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t cease his pacing. I knew it wasn¡¯t him the comment had been meant for, anyway. I gave Karim a curt nod, which he returned. If I had the slightest doubt before that Mr Ambrose could and would kill to protect his interests, it was now gone. With such servants at his command, the deed would be easy to accomplish.

 Page 50

    I wondered why I didn¡¯t feel more afraid.


    Suddenly, Mr Ambrose stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face me.


    ¡®You,¡¯ he said curtly, ¡®have placed me in a difficult position, Mr Linton.¡¯


    ¡®Because you have to kill me now?¡¯ I inquired.


    ¡®No.¡¯ Maybe I was mistaken, but I could have sworn his jaw tightened a little bit. ¡®Because I cannot kill you, Mr Linton. Any man under the same suspicion you are under now I would simply challenge to a duel and shoot like the dog he is. However,¡¯ he paused for a moment to take a breath, ¡®that will not be possible in your case, since you are¡­ not quite as male as I could wish.¡¯


    There! That was why I was not afraid.


    ¡®You mean because I¡¯m a girl,¡¯ I pointed out. ¡®Which means I am female, not male. You can say the word, you know. It¡¯s not poisonous.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, but it is,¡¯ he responded, coolly. ¡®Poisonous to my reputation, and now to my interests. I must have that file, Mr Linton. However, you were right: I am a gentleman. And because of that unfortunate condition you conceal under your trousers, I, as a gentleman, can neither search you nor kill you to gain what I must have.¡¯


    Unfortunate condition? God, this fellow really needed his head examined!


    ¡®Why are you so bloody convinced that it was me who stole your precious papers, anyway?¡¯ I lashed out. ¡®Why so determined to think that I am the guilty one? Why not some other member of your staff? The file could have been gone for days.¡¯


    ¡®No, it couldn¡¯t,¡¯ he replied curtly. ¡®Because nobody had access to the files in the safe.¡¯


    ¡®Nobody else had another key? And what about the one you gave me?¡¯


    ¡®Why these pointless questions?¡¯ he asked, shaking his head. ¡®We both know that you are guilty! There is no duplicate key, and the one I gave you was in my own possession the entire time since last Wednesday when-¡¯


    Abruptly, his head-shaking ceased. His whole body froze.


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ I demanded. ¡®When what?¡¯


    Slowly he came out of his paralysis and turned his head to face me directly. His dark eyes flashed as though a storm was raging in them. For one moment he looked so dangerous I actually took a step back.


    But then I realized that for once, his anger was not directed at me. A word passed his lips like the hiss of a snake preparing to strike:


    ¡®Simmons!¡¯


    Karim let out a low oath in a language I didn¡¯t understand. But the way he said it, I didn¡¯t have to know the words to know that it was a curse. He had obviously understood. I, on the contrary, was still completely in the dark.


    ¡®Simmons?¡¯ I echoed, making it a question.


    He met my eyes with his deep, dark, blue-grey ones.


    ¡®Yes. Simmons, Mr Linton. Simmons, my previous private secretary. Simmons, who disappeared a few days ago without any explanation. Simmons, the treacherous snake.¡¯


    With a few long strides Mr Ambrose was over at my desk and started rifling through my drawers. The wooden ones in the desk, I mean.


    ¡®What are you doing?¡¯ I demanded. ¡®I thought your big bull already checked those.¡¯


    Karim threw me a look that signified about a ton of displeasure. Apparently he didn¡¯t appreciate his new nickname. I made a mental note to use it again at the earliest opportunity.


    ¡®Karim did search the drawers,¡¯ Mr Ambrose agreed. ¡®But he searched them for the missing file, not for a sign of where the traitor who has taken the file might have gone. This was his desk once.¡¯


    ¡®So you think that this Simmons did it now? You no longer think it was me?¡¯


    ¡®No! I was a fool to ever have thought it. After all, you¡¯re only¡­¡¯ He waved his hand non-committally.


    ¡®A girl?¡¯ I piped up. ¡®Is that what you were going to say? We females can steal things just as well as any man, thank you very much!¡¯


    ¡®A moment ago you were afraid of me thinking you¡¯re guilty, and now you praise your skills as a thief?¡¯


    ¡®Not my skills, but the skills of womanhood in general! And I was certainly not afraid.¡¯


    ¡®You were not?¡¯


    ¡®Do I look afraid to you?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ he admitted. ¡®You look superfluous. Leave the room. I and my men have a thief to catch.¡¯ He nodded to the door and returned to his work of rifling through the desk, as if I had already left, or as if I had ceased to exist entirely. That, I was sure, was how he would have preferred things.


    Crossing my arms, I planted myself in front of him.


    ¡®I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡¯


    ¡®I give you the rest of the day off,¡¯ he said, not looking at me. ¡®Go and enjoy your holiday. Trust me when I say I do not give holidays often.¡¯


    ¡®With me it seems that is almost the only thing you do! I did not come here to juggle meaningless pieces of paper like a monkey trained for some circus and then be chucked out after half a day. I came here to work! And if you have a thief to catch, I will come with you!¡¯


    ¡®Just for your information,¡¯ he said, ¡®the pieces of paper that you have ¡°juggled¡± as you put it have most certainly not been meaningless.¡¯


    He still didn¡¯t bother to turn around and look at me. All I could do was send my furious glares at his broad, hard back, and that did nothing to calm me down.


    ¡®They all pertain to my business in a very real way,¡¯ he continued. ¡®And you are nothing whatsoever like a circus monkey. A monkey wouldn¡¯t talk back at me.¡¯


    ¡®But it might bite!¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not sure I wouldn¡¯t prefer that.¡¯


    ¡®Is that so?¡¯ I took an involuntary step towards him. ¡®Well, I could try if you wished.¡¯


    His neck muscles tensed. ¡®No need to put yourself to trouble. Go home. That is an order.¡¯


    ¡®No!¡¯ I stamped my foot. I didn¡¯t care if I made a spectacle of myself. He was going to accept me whether he wanted to or not.


    ¡®You cannot refuse to go home if I send you away.¡¯ I wouldn¡¯t have believed his voice could grow colder than it already was. But he was reaching new heights of vocal deep-freezing. ¡®You work for me.¡¯


    ¡®Exactly.¡¯ I nodded. ¡®I work for you. And just as I could protest if you were to keep me at work longer than the normal hours, I have the right to protest if you send me away early. You accepted my work in exchange for a salary, Mr Ambrose, and I intend to earn that salary. I will not accept charity from anyone, and most certainly not from you.¡¯

 Page 51

    He looked up then and met my gaze again. Had something in my little speech actually managed to capture his attention?


    There was something in his eyes as he looked at me¡­ Something different from before. It was intense - but I had no idea what it was.


    ¡®You are wasting my time,¡¯ he said. But his voice wasn¡¯t quite as hard and immovable as just a second ago. ¡®I need to catch Simmons.¡¯


    ¡®Then let me help,¡¯ I pleaded.


    Instead of answering, he returned to rummaging through the last drawer. Slamming it shut, he turned to Karim, who stood waiting at the entrance to the safe.


    ¡®Nothing here. Get the men here. The entire team. Tell Warren to go over this place with a fine-tooth comb. Anything he finds, and I mean anything, is to be brought to me immediately, understood?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sahib.¡¯


    ¡®Why not just tell the police about this?¡¯ I dared to interject.


    ¡®Because I do not want this business in tomorrow¡¯s newspapers,¡¯ was the curt reply. ¡®And because if we find the thief, they will get in my way.¡¯


    I had to swallow. Taking into account his recent threats towards yours truly, I could only imagine too well what he meant by that.


    ¡®So what now?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®Now you will go home.¡¯


    ¡®No. I will not!¡¯


    Karim, who had been striding towards the door to embark on his errand, hesitated there. ¡®Do you truly wish me to leave you alone with her, Sahib?¡¯


    I rolled my eyes. Oh, please.


    Mr Ambrose nodded. ¡®Yes, go, Karim. I need Warren here as soon as possible.¡¯


    ¡®As you wish, Sahib.¡¯ But Karim still looked doubtful under his beard as he unlocked the door and left the room.


    When the door closed behind him, I stepped up to Mr Ambrose until only a few inches separated us. There was no point in beating about the bush further.


    ¡®Why won¡¯t you let me do my job? What exactly is your problem?¡¯


    His eyes, seeming darker than usual, almost black, bored into me like a steam-engine-driven drill. ¡®You know.¡¯


    Angrily, I put my fists on my hips. ¡®You mean the fact that I¡¯m a girl?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t say anything, but from his look I knew that was it. What was the matter? This was going beyond chauvinism. Wasn''t he even able to say the word ¡®girl¡¯ aloud? Did he have such a strong distaste for it? For me?


    ¡®Do you behave like this to all females?¡¯ I demanded.


    A faint noise escaped him. It might have been a snort.


    ¡®Hardly. All females don''t put on trousers and trick me into giving them jobs!¡¯


    ¡®I did not trick you!¡¯


    ¡®Maybe. Get to the point.¡¯


    ¡®I already have. Why won¡¯t you let me help you, let me work for you properly?¡¯


    He shook his head in exasperation. ¡®You don''t understand. Where I am going, what I will be doing¡­ It will be dangerous. Very dangerous. I cannot let you accompany me.¡¯


    ¡®Why not?¡¯ I asked, heatedly. ¡®Simply because I am a girl?¡¯


    He stared at me for a second, seemingly lost for words. For this one moment I saw something flicker in his eyes, something different from the iron determination that was usually there. He looked almost¡­ frightened? Longing?


    Then the shutters came done again, and he nodded. ¡®Yes, that¡¯s exactly the reason. I am a gentleman. As such I cannot allow any lad- person of female gender to be in danger.¡¯


    It did not pass my notice how he had avoided using the term ''lady''.


    ¡®Oh really?¡¯ Sarcasm was dripping from my voice. ¡®If I may remind you, you were threatening to do away with me yourself not ten minutes ago.¡¯


    ¡®That,¡¯ he answered in a chilling voice, ¡®was when I thought you had betrayed me. I do not take kindly to traitors, Mr Linton.¡¯


    The sarcasm drained from my voice and face.


    ¡®I am not a traitor,¡¯ I said, my voice full of hurt.


    For one instant, I thought his granite face softened a bit. ¡®I know. You have done an acceptable job so far - for an Ifrit.¡¯


    My eyes flew wide open. Had my ears betrayed me, or had Mr Ambrose, Mr Silent and Sullen Granite Face Ambrose, just made a joke?


    ¡®But your capabilities as an office worker don¡¯t have anything to do with this. You simply can¡¯t get involved in this matter! You see that, don''t you?¡¯ he continued so quickly that I immediately forgot about the maybe-joke and my hackles rose.


    ¡®No! I most certainly do not see. You have taken me on to work for you!¡¯ I folded my arms in front of my chest. ¡®I demand work! I demand to work bloody hard for every penny you will pay me, just like Karim and this Warren fellow and every other man you employ, do you understand? I want to earn my own money, and I will, whether you want me to or not.¡¯


    Once again, he studied me with his dark, sea-coloured eyes. There was something growing there - slowly, very slowly. Acceptance? More likely it was resignation.


    He took a step towards me. Whereas before our faces had been inches apart, now it was only a fraction of an inch.


    ¡®I will not be able to change your mind, will I?¡¯ he asked. His voice was arctic. But for some reason I didn¡¯t feel cold. Instead I felt heat rush over my body. Where his face and mine almost touched, my skin began to tingle. The tension between us was burning.


    ¡®No.¡¯ I grinned. ¡®And you don''t have the time anyway. You have to catch a thief.¡¯


    ¡®Good point.¡¯ Again, he studied me. ¡®You really wish to help?¡¯


    ¡®Yes!¡¯


    ¡®Very well then. Follow me.¡¯


    He whirled, and before I knew what was happening he was striding away. I followed instinctively, only now realizing how my breath had sped up during our little standoff.


    Strange. Why had I reacted like this? It must have been the exhilaration of finally triumphing over him. Yes, that had to be it.


    He led me back towards the entrance of the safe. There, he stopped and turned to me. I had to work hard to keep a triumphant smile off my face. This was it. He was finally going to accept me and give me responsibility.


    ¡®I have a very important assignment for you,¡¯ he said, looking me directly in the eyes. ¡®One of vital significance, which I expect to be finished by the time I return.¡¯


    ¡®What is it?¡¯ I asked, breathless.


    He pushed open the door to the safe, which had fallen closed behind us. Then he pointed to the chaos of files on the floor. ¡®Clean up that mess.¡¯

 Page 52

    Little Ifrit


    All right, so I did it. So what? He was my employer, after all, and he could order me to do anything he wanted. The fact that I was fuming and fantasizing about choking him didn¡¯t really count as an excuse to shirk my duties.


    By the light of the small gas lamp Mr Ambrose had given me, I started to sort files.


    Soon I found that, while the work itself was deathly boring, being positioned in the safe room had unexpected advantages. Once I had pushed open the door, which Mr Ambrose had shut, I could hear everything that was going on in my office - which was quite a lot, let me tell you.


    There was a knock on the door.


    ¡®Enter,¡¯ Mr Ambrose¡¯s curt voice called.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose? Good morning, Sir,¡¯ a quiet, respectful voice said in answer. Several pairs of feet shuffled into my office. Apparently it had been selected as official HQ for the thief hunt. ¡®I came as soon as you called. What is the matter? Karim didn¡¯t say.¡¯


    ¡®Warren.¡¯ No ¡®good morning¡¯ from Mr Stoneface Ambrose of course, and certainly no ¡®How nice to see you.¡¯ He got right to the point. ¡®Have you seen Simmons?¡¯


    ¡®Simmons, Sir? I thought you gave me to understand that he suddenly gave up his post.¡¯


    ¡®He did. And he took something of mine along with him, it appears.¡¯


    There was a short, heavy silence. It wasn¡¯t hard for me to imagine the merciless ice in Mr Ambrose¡¯s eyes right then. Just from the feel of the air I got the impression that the people in my office experienced a twinge of pity for Simmons.


    ¡®I see. What can we do, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®First answer my question, Warren. Have you seen him since he left?¡¯


    ¡®No, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®Has he come back to pick up his belongings?¡¯


    ¡®I can send someone and check, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®Do that. Now.¡¯


    Footsteps hurried off. There were a few more minutes of silence, which nobody made even the slightest attempt to fill. Apparently Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t think much of small talk. What a surprise.


    The moment the footsteps returned he asked: ¡®And?¡¯


    ¡®His things are gone,¡¯ said a third voice. ¡®I asked Mr Garfield down at the lockers, and he said that Simmons took them with him on the same day he disappeared.¡¯


    ¡®That settles it,¡¯ declared Mr Ambrose. ¡®He¡¯s the thief. He has been planning this.¡¯


    ¡®It appears so, Sir,¡¯ agreed the man called Warren. ¡®May I ask what was stolen?¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯


    What was this? No? Just like that? No? Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t even trust his own people? Well, I shouldn¡¯t be surprised that I was stuck in here sorting files then, instead of being out there where the real work was being done.


    ¡®You are looking for a folder with the inscription ¡°S39XX300¡±,¡¯ Mr Ambrose told them, icily. ¡®That is all you need to know.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®First you will search this office. I have some urgent business and will leave you to it. If you have any questions, ask Karim.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir.¡¯


    His footsteps receded, and the noises from the other room indicated that Mr Warren and his cronies had begun their search. I returned my attention to my work.


    Quite a good idea, it appeared: I had been so distracted that I hadn¡¯t noticed I had tried to stuff a bunch of files into the open mouth of some wooden African totem. Hurriedly I removed them and started looking for their proper container.


    For the next few minutes I busied with the files. Then I suddenly heard footsteps approaching the door of the safe. Yet before I could panic and begin to wonder what they wanted with me, I heard Karim¡¯s voice.


    ¡®Not in there, Warren.¡¯


    ¡®But Mr Ambrose said to search everywhere.¡¯


    ¡®Everywhere in this office. Not in the safe. There is¡­¡¯ Karim¡¯s voice dropped to a whisper as he explained something to Warren. I didn¡¯t exactly hear everything, but I thought I caught the word ¡®Ifrit¡¯.


    ¡®Really?¡¯ Warren whispered. ¡®Are you sure?¡¯


    ¡®I saw it with my own eyes,¡¯ Karim assured him.


    ¡®Right in there? In the safe room?¡¯


    ¡®Indeed. So you see you had better not¡­¡¯


    ¡®Of course! I¡¯ll steer clear of it, don''t you worry.¡¯


    For the following few minutes my fantasies changed from strangling Mr Ambrose to braining Karim with a wooden African totem. In the end I suppose the difference didn¡¯t much matter. Men! They were all the same.


    During the following hours I worked ceaselessly, clearing up the mess my dear master had left behind. He wouldn¡¯t have an excuse to accuse me of slacking, oh no! The task actually wasn¡¯t as hard as I had feared. All the folders strewn over the floor were numbered. Since I had already fully grasped the sorting system, and the one here in the safe was simply an extension of that in my office, I got on quickly, and orderly rows of boxes grew on the shelves.


    Finally, the door to my office opened and I heard his unmistakable voice.


    ¡®Are you done, Warren?¡¯


    ¡®Nearly, Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    ¡®As soon as you¡¯re done here, prepare your men for a little trip, by which I do not mean a stroll in the park. Do we understand each other?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    ¡®Very well. I shall join you in a minute, as soon as I¡¯ve seen how my little Ifrit is doing.¡¯


    ¡®Your what, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®Forget what I said, Warren.¡¯


    ¡®Yessir!¡¯


    His little Ifrit? I supposed I should have been outraged, him calling me names and all, but for some strange reason I felt warm inside. Maybe because of my flaming wings, who knew?


    Mr Ambrose had obviously not intended for me to hear his words. Quickly and quietly I closed the door to the safe room, just as he had left it, and retreated to a corner, a demure little smile on my face as I looked around the room. All right, maybe the smile wasn¡¯t totally demure. Maybe it was even a little bit self-satisfied. So what?


    The door was pushed open and Mr Ambrose entered. ¡®I will be leaving on the search soon,¡¯ he began. ¡®So sorry that you are occupied and can¡¯t come with us. How many hours do you think you will still need to finish your¡­¡¯


    As his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the safe-room, his voice trailed off.


    ¡®You were saying?¡¯ I inquired sweetly.

 Page 53

    Slowly, Mr Ambrose¡¯s gaze wandered over the long rows of impeccably ordered boxes on the shelves of the safe room. He bent to examine the floor, maybe in the hope that he could find a stray piece of paper still lying somewhere, or at least a few flecks of dust.


    When he finally straightened again, his eyes fixed on me.


    ¡®You are finished?¡¯


    ¡®Yes. Why?¡¯ I fluttered my eyelashes at him. ¡®Were you by any chance expecting me to take longer?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ he lied smoothly. ¡®In fact I was expecting you to be finished long ago. Don¡¯t be so lazy again, or I will have to reduce your wages.¡¯


    ¡®Well, well.¡¯ I glared at him, even though for some strange reason, inside I wasn¡¯t feeling angry. Somehow I knew he was only putting on a show, and I was dancing in triumph. ¡®You had better stop or you¡¯ll drown me in compliments for my work.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t be afraid,¡¯ he assured me. ¡®That will never, ever happen.¡¯


    I could readily believe it.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose?¡¯ The man called Warren appeared at the door to the safe room. He was an average-looking fellow with a thin moustache and a high forehead. Spotting me, he looked at me curiously for a second. Then his gaze returned to our master. ¡®We¡¯re ready to go, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®I see.¡¯ Mr Ambrose¡¯s voice was as cool as could be. ¡®Warren, I think you haven¡¯t met before?¡¯ He indicated me. ¡®This¡­¡¯ he swallowed as if he had to get something unpleasant down his throat. ¡®This is Mr Linton. My new¡­ private secretary.¡¯


    ¡®I see. A pleasure to meet you, Mr Linton.¡¯ Warren extended his hand to me. As if in a dream, I took it and shook it.


    ¡®Likewise,¡¯ I heard myself say.


    He has admitted it! He has admitted to another person that I work for him!


    ¡®Enough pleasantries,¡¯ Mr Ambrose cut short our pleasantries. Abruptly he whirled to the door. ¡®We have a thief to catch.¡¯ With two long strides he was outside and out of sight. ¡®Come!¡¯ We heard his commanding voice from outside. ¡®Both of you!¡¯


    I was still so thrilled by his admission that it took me a few seconds to register his words.


    ¡®W-what?¡¯ I managed. ¡®Me, too?¡¯


    ¡®Are you deaf? Get a move on, Mr Linton!¡¯


    I jumped up so fast you might have thought a scorpion had stung me. Following Mr Ambrose out of the safe, I saw that he had crossed my office and was standing at the connecting door to his own. He thrust it open and we followed him inside the large, bare and empty room.


    A room which was no longer bare and empty. I had been mistaken, thinking that my office was the thief hunter HQ. It had just been a temporary space until things were set up in here.


    People were standing all around: men with nondescript faces, in nondescript clothes. On the desk lay a gigantic map, larger than any I had seen before, even in the British Museum. It detailed not the world, but, to judge from the web of jagged lines, some vast city in fine detail.


    Immediately I knew what it had to be. A map of London. A map for the hunters.


    What in heaven¡¯s name could have been stolen that Mr Ambrose was so desperate to discover? And why wouldn¡¯t he tell anyone what it was? Why wouldn¡¯t he tell me?


    ¡®Gather round.¡¯ Mr Ambrose took up his position at the desk and gestured for Karim, Warren and me to do likewise. The two dozen or so men whom Warren had brought with him posted themselves at either entrance to the room.


    Some of the men, including Warren but excluding Mr Ambrose, took out cigars and lit them. Not used to the smell, I wrinkled my nose - but I would have to get used to this if I really intended to work among men.


    ¡®We have to come up with a strategy to track Simmons,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said. ¡®Suggestions, gentlemen.¡¯


    And ladies, I thought, but didn¡¯t say it. Instead I said: ¡®Well¡­ maybe we should start by thinking about motive. Why did he steal the file?¡¯


    ¡®Because he wanted it, obviously,¡¯ said Mr Ambrose. ¡®I should perhaps have clarified: Intelligent suggestions.¡¯


    ¡®That is not what I meant,¡¯ I snapped. ¡®I meant¡­ what does the file contain? Why exactly did he want it for himself?¡¯


    ¡®None of you are to know what the file contains, Mr Linton. Nor do I see that it is in any way necessary.¡¯


    ¡®It is necessary if we want to know where he will go next and what he will do,¡¯ I persisted. God, he really had trust issues. ¡®For example - if it simply is a folder containing banknotes, he¡¯ll just flee the city. If it is some important document, he might try to sell it. If it is a letter from one of your secret lady friends, he will try to blackmail you.¡¯


    Mr Warren almost swallowed his cigar. Slowly, Mr Ambrose, who had been staring down at the table, looked up at me and fixed me with his cold gaze. I tried my best to meet his eyes without flinching.


    ¡®Well, I can guarantee you, Mr Linton, that it is not a letter from one of my secret lady friends. They would not waste their time writing letters to me they know I would not read.¡¯


    Now it was my turn to stare. Was he being serious? Did he really have a secret lady friend or, God forbid, several? For heaven¡¯s sake, I had been trying to make a joke!


    Perhaps not the best of ideas where he was concerned.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ I said as steadily as possible, ¡®that leaves two of the possibilities I have outlined. Which is it?¡¯


    He remained silent.


    ¡®Just a general indication,¡¯ I coaxed. ¡®Come on. You have got to give us something.¡¯


    Warren cleared his throat, taking this opportunity to rid himself of the bitten off pieces of his cigar that were still stuck there.


    ¡®I think I must agree with Mr Linton, Sir. Without any idea of what the document in question is, we have little hope of catching the thief.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose stayed silent for one moment longer - then he nodded curtly.


    ¡®Number two,¡¯ he stated.


    I frowned. What was he talking about? ¡®Excuse me?¡¯


    ¡®Number two,¡¯ he repeated. ¡®The second possibility you outlined. There are no banknotes in the file. It is an important document.¡¯ Taking a deep breath, he added: ¡®More important than you can imagine.¡¯


    ¡®Now we¡¯re getting somewhere,¡¯ I sighed.


    ¡®Can he sell it to anyone, Sir?¡¯ Warren inquired.


    ¡®Only to the right people. And by right I do not mean ¡°right¡± as in ¡°right and honourable¡±. I mean people with limitless cash and little conscience.¡¯

 Page 54

    I almost said, ¡®Oh, you mean people like yourself?¡¯ But I held my tongue. My natural tendency to bad manners was not well placed here if I wanted to keep my job.


    ¡®These people,¡¯ I asked, ¡®are they here in London, or could they be anywhere in the country?¡¯


    ¡®Theoretically, they could be anywhere. But it is most likely that they would be here. This is the centre of the British Empire, the power-hub for a fifth of the earth¡¯s surface - the best place to transact any kind of business, whether legitimate or otherwise.¡¯


    ¡®But we had better make sure, hadn¡¯t we?¡¯ I said with a sweet smile. ¡®Somebody told me once it¡¯s better to always verify.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose gave me another one of his cold stares. ¡®That must have been a very wise person.¡¯ Turning, he nodded to Karim. ¡®Go, take a few of the men and check Euston station. I want a description of all the passengers who left in the last few days and don¡¯t care how you get it. If there¡¯s anyone there who fits Simmons¡¯ description - find him, grab him, hold him. I do not care if it should happen to be the Prime Minister.¡¯


    ¡®Is Simmons easy to recognize?¡¯ I asked as Karim marched out of the room with seven henchmen at his heels.


    Mr Ambrose nodded grimly. ¡®Oh yes. That is the one piece of good luck in this mess. He¡¯s tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow. If anyone saw him, they¡¯ll remember him.¡¯


    ¡®He might have altered his appearance,¡¯ I pointed out doubtfully.


    Beside me, Warren nodded. ¡®That¡¯s very likely, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®No, it isn¡¯t. He¡¯s always been a vain fellow. Clever, but with a too good an opinion of himself and his looks. No doubt he thinks we have no hope of catching up to him.¡¯


    ¡®And do we, Sir?¡¯ Warren wanted to know. ¡®Assuming he has not left the city - and I for my part think it likely that he is still here - how are we going to find one man hidden in a labyrinth of a city among three million people?¡¯


    ¡®The task is not as impossible as you might think, Warren.¡¯ Mr Ambrose tapped the map on the table. ¡®Most of those three million people are working-class folk. I doubt very much Simmons would hide out in one of their miserable little sheds. Oh no. He did this for money, and he would want to live in style.¡¯


    In quick succession he pointed out various buildings on the map, marking them with pushpins.


    ¡®These are the best hotels in town. I do not approve of such frivolous behaviour as betting, but if I did, I would bet my top hat that he is staying in one of them under some alias.¡¯


    ¡®Just¡­ staying in a hotel?¡¯ I asked, incredulously. ¡®Isn¡¯t he afraid of the police?¡¯


    ¡®He knows my affairs,¡¯ was the curt reply. ¡®He knows I cannot involve the police in this. The results would be¡­¡¯


    His voice trailed off into nothingness. We all waited with bated breath, but not a word came. So the results would be too terrible to speak aloud, would they? What in heaven¡¯s name could be in this infernal file?


    ¡®The police are not an option,¡¯ Mr Ambrose eventually continued, ¡®so Simmons feels confident and secure.¡¯ For a moment, lightning flashed in his dark eyes. ¡®Very soon he will learn of his mistake.¡¯


    ¡®This is all very well, but these are over a hundred hotels,¡¯ I pointed out. ¡®How are we to find out in which one he is staying?¡¯


    ¡®I can take care of half,¡¯ said Mr Ambrose. Without further explanation, he strode to the pneumatic tube at the wall, wrote a message in his meticulous handwriting, and pulled the lever. Shortly after, the answer came. He checked it and returned to the desk.


    ¡®You can cross these-¡¯ pointing to about half of the hotels on the map, ¡®-off the list.¡¯


    ¡®How on earth can you check the guest lists of more than fifty hotels with just one message?¡¯ I demanded.


    He fixed me with his dark glare.


    ¡®Because I own them.¡¯


    ¡®You own fifty per cent of all the hotels in London?¡¯


    ¡®No. I own seventy per cent of all the hotels in London. But the remaining twenty per cent are too expensive even for an escaped criminal with a bag full of ready cash to afford.¡¯


    Of course. I should have guessed.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ I asked sweetly, gesturing to the remaining hotels on the map, ¡®do you plan on buying the rest of them to make things easier for us?¡¯


    ¡®That would not be making things easier, Mr Linton. Unfortunately, such things take time - time which we do not have.¡¯


    ¡®You could always bribe someone in the hotels,¡¯ I suggested, raising an eyebrow. ¡®You have enough cash, don''t you? And you don¡¯t seem to be above bending the law a little.¡¯


    The room went deadly quiet.


    Before I knew it, Mr Ambrose was at my side, and his hard hand was gripping my arm. Slowly, he leaned down towards my ear until I could feel his breath there, tickling me in a delicious threat.


    ¡®I am perfectly well aware that you are no real lady, Mr Linton. There is no need to prove the fact further by impugning my honour in front of my associates. I will let you be a part of this only if you can behave yourself properly. For a start, when you speak to me, you will show me proper respect. You are to address me as ''Mister Ambrose'' or ''Sir''. Is that clear?¡¯


    I smiled at him as sweetly as I could manage.


    ¡®Sir! Yes, Sir, Mister Ambrose, Sir!¡¯


    His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but he didn¡¯t say anything. He just stepped back and looked down at the map again.


    ¡®So how do we deal with the remaining hotels and determine whether or not he is there?¡¯


    ¡®We could simply ask,¡¯ suggested one of Warren¡¯s men. But Warren shook his head.


    ¡®No, Jim. We could if we knew the alias Simmons is using; that wouldn¡¯t appear too suspicious. But we can¡¯t if we only know his description.¡¯


    I nodded. ¡®That¡¯s right. I mean¡­ How do you think a receptionist is going to react if you come marching into his hotel demanding to know if a man with long blonde hair is staying there, without offering any explanation as to why you¡¯re looking for him. He would throw you out.¡¯


    ¡®He would not throw me out,¡¯ stated Mr Ambrose darkly.


    ¡®Err¡­ probably, Sir. But he wouldn¡¯t answer the question either, would he?¡¯

 Page 55

    He shot me a look that was a shade darker than the one before.


    ¡®Do you have a better idea?¡¯


    Suddenly I smiled. Inspiration had struck. Yes!


    ¡®Actually,¡¯ I told him, ¡®I do. I know exactly how we can find him. Or more precisely, how I can. It¡¯ll be easy. I just need a beautiful dress and a sack full of onions.¡¯


    I Go Dress-Shopping


    ¡®A what and a what?¡¯ Mr Ambrose stared at me as if I had lost my mind, and my job was soon to follow.


    I smiled at him innocently. ¡®Is your hearing not as good as it used to be, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®How,¡¯ he asked very slowly and deliberately, ¡®are you going to track a thief with¡­ with a dress and a sack full of vegetables?¡¯


    ¡®Onions. They have to be onions. And the how,¡¯ I said, tapping my nose knowingly, ¡®you¡¯ll just have to leave that to me. Secrets of the trade.¡¯


    ¡®How do I know this is going to work?¡¯


    I gave him my most sweetest smile.


    ¡®Easy. You¡¯ll have to trust me.¡¯


    For nearly half an hour he tried to worm my plan out of me, but I wouldn¡¯t budge. At one point he declared that, fine, we were going to try something else. When I asked him what exactly, he didn¡¯t look very pleased. Finally, Warren and a few of the others joined my side, arguing for him to let me have a go.


    ¡®We don''t even know whether Simmons is still in town,¡¯ Mr Ambrose pointed out, stubbornly shaking his head.


    The door to my office chose this moment to open and admit the monumental form of Karim, who bowed and with what I thought was perfect timing said: ¡®Nobody has seen Simmons at the train station, Sahib. It is safe to assume that he is still within the city.¡¯


    There was one moment more of hesitation - then Mr Ambrose grabbed his top hat from the coat stand and slammed it down on his hard head.


    ¡®Fine. We¡¯re going. Karim, come along. We¡¯re going to buy onions.¡¯


    With a slightly puzzled expression on his face, the bearded man followed his master out. I, unable to conceal a grin, was right at his heels.


    ¡®What are you planning, Mr Linton?¡¯ Warren whispered behind me, but I just shook my head.


    We had to run to keep up with Mr Ambrose. Out in the street he didn¡¯t hail a cab, but began to march down the street.


    ¡®Err¡­ Sir?¡¯ Warren cleared his throat. ¡®If the situation is as grave as you have indicated, the expense of a cab would surely be justifiable. It is a much quicker means of transport, very convenient in such an urgent situation.¡¯


    ¡®Fine.¡¯


    Irritably, Mr Ambrose waved a hand and, when a cab stopped, ordered us inside with a jerk of his head. All of us, about a dozen men plus one disguised woman, into one cab! The driver looked at us as if we were completely insane, and I couldn¡¯t blame him.


    The good news was I didn¡¯t end up with Karim sitting on top of me. The bad news was I ended up with Mr Ambrose sitting next to me. Very close next to me. I didn¡¯t want to think about how close. His lean body was nearly squashing me against the wall, and there was something hard pressing into my leg which I very much hoped was the end of his walking stick.


    Through the window that connected the inside of the coach with the driver¡¯s box, Mr Ambrose threw the cabbie a look. ¡®Drive fast.¡¯


    The man¡¯s eyes widened. Apparently, he knew who was talking to him. The whip cracked, and we started to move with astonishing speed for a vehicle carrying three times the intended load.


    ¡®Take us to Flemming''s,¡¯ Mr Ambrose shouted over the whirl and clatter of the wheels. I had no idea who or what Flemming¡¯s was - hopefully a place where one could get either dresses or onions. I didn¡¯t know if this crazy plan of mine was going to work, but if it was to succeed, I definitely needed all the right equipment.


    After a ten-minute drive, the cab stopped in front of a large building with grimy windows and a lot of merchandise crammed together, displayed there. Over the door, large, ornamental letters proudly spelled out ¡®Flemming¡¯s¡¯.


    I took a close look at the department store. I didn¡¯t know much about fashion, but I knew enough. The frilly, cheap things displayed in the shop window were not exactly what I was after. I looked at Mr Ambrose.


    ¡®I said I needed a beautiful dress.¡¯


    ¡®What¡¯s wrong with those? They¡¯re cheap.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s exactly what¡¯s wrong with them.¡¯


    I knocked against the roof of the cab. ¡®Take us to the best dressmaker in town.¡¯


    The little dressmaker was a hunched figure with a long, hooked nose, remnants of grey hair over both ears and a resplendent waistcoat in blue and gold. He was intent on examining a few rolls of brocade and didn¡¯t look up when he heard the doorbell ring. Only when footsteps approached and the annoying presence of a customer drew him from the contemplation of the masterpiece he was no doubt thinking about creating, did he look up. A frown spread over his wrinkled face and he eyed the slight man in baggy trousers who was standing in front of him - yours truly - with obvious doubt in his eyes.


    ¡®Is there something I can do for you, Sir?¡¯ he asked. ¡®Or did you perhaps want to come in through the servant¡¯s entrance?¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯ I, shook my head. ¡®I¡¯m here to pick out a dress for my sister. It¡¯s going to be a birthday present.¡¯


    Methodically, the dressmaker took a pair of pince-nez out of his waistcoat pocket, polished them on his sleeve, and clamped them on his nose. Then he studied me like he would a piece of his cloth. Apparently, he found that I was second-hand, with quite a lot of moth-holes, too.


    ¡®And you¡¯re going to pay for it?¡¯ he asked, disbelief dripping from his voice.


    ¡®Oh no. He is.¡¯ Stepping aside, I pointed behind me. A lean black figure appeared from between the shelves and mannequins and strode towards the two of us. In theory Mr Ambrose was dressed quite as simply as I. Nothing about his black tailcoat, black waistcoat or black trousers indicated wealth.


    But the arrogance of his dark eyes did.


    ¡®Oh. I see.¡¯ The dressmaker swallowed. ¡®And the gentlemen¡¯s names are¡­?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m Mister Linton,¡¯ I answered. ¡®And this is Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    The pince-nez fell off the man¡¯s nose and his eyes widened. ¡®Mr Ambrose? Mr Rikkard Ambrose?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯ Mr Ambrose nodded, curtly.

 Page 56

    ¡®Oh dear Sir, please forgive me for not recognizing you on sight. Please forgive me for not properly welcoming you to my humble establishment. You honour me with your presence here!¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯ Mr Ambrose nodded curtly again.


    ¡®Once more I beg a thousand pardons. Everything I have, everything I am is at your disposal. What do you wish to see? I have some very fine waistcoats, just came in yesterday from France. Very expensive, but the best, the very best. Please, let me show you¡­¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not here to buy waistcoats,¡¯ Mr Ambrose cut him off. ¡®I am here¡­¡¯ He paused for a moment - gathering his strength, I would imagine. ¡®I am here to pay for a dress for this man¡¯s sister. One dress. As pretty and inexpensive as possible.¡¯


    The dressmaker blinked, surprised. I would have wagered that not one of his clients had ever before placed an order for a dress they wanted to be cheap. He dealt comparatively well with the new circumstances though, springing up from his stool and bowing deeply.


    ¡®Of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir. Please follow me, Mr Linton. What should the dress be made of? Muslin? Brocade? Silk?¡¯


    ¡®Silk would be perfect. With plenty of lace at the sleeves and the cleavage, and gold embroidery, and little diamonds everywhere.¡¯ I smiled at him. ¡®Don¡¯t pay attention to what Mr Ambrose said. The dress needs to be spectacular. Make it demure but¡­ alluring.¡¯


    The little dressmaker winked at me and nodded like an overexcited woodpecker, determined to make a new home for himself. ¡®I completely understand, Sir. I think I know just the thing. Do you have your sister¡¯s measurements, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®No, but she is about my build. You can use me as a model.¡¯


    Half an hour later we emerged from the shop, and Mr Ambrose was carrying a large package.


    ¡®If this is going to be a waste of my money, you will be deeply, deeply sorry, Mr Linton,¡¯ he said, his voice as cool as ice.


    ¡®Don¡¯t worry. The onions will be cheap, I promise.¡¯


    ¡®This is in contradiction to our agreement!¡¯ Mr Ambrose told me, quiet menace in his voice.


    We were back at Empire House. All of us - Mr Ambrose, Karim, Warren and his cronies were assembled in the hallway in front of Mr Ambrose¡¯s office. Mr Stone, who normally occupied the desk here, was nowhere in sight. Maybe Mr Ambrose had given him the day off. More likely though, he¡¯d sent him to slave in some other part of the building while we conducted our secret business here.


    ¡®It is not,¡¯ I said, cutting open the first string that held together the package containing the dress.


    ¡®It is. I only accepted you under the condition that you would pretend to be a man while working for me.¡¯


    ¡®And I will,¡¯ I said patting the dress fondly. ¡®I will pretend to be a man pretending to be a woman.¡¯


    ¡®You¡­¡¯ Mr Ambrose might have said something else, but for the moment he seemed lost for words. Then he demanded: ¡®And this is really necessary for that infernal plan of yours? You are not just doing this to anger me?¡¯


    I gave him my brightest, most happy smile. I was smiling a lot lately. But why the heck not? Thief hunting was fun! ¡®Now why would I do something like that, Sir?¡¯


    Before he could reply or try to throttle me, I vanished into my office and locked the door behind me.


    ¡®Err¡­ Sir?¡¯ Warren¡¯s voice, muffled by the door, was as nervous as it was curious. ¡®What is he doing in there?¡¯


    ¡®Apparently,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said, his voice as arctic as ever, ¡®Mr Linton¡¯s plan requires a female participant. Since we have none available, Mr Linton will impersonate one.¡¯


    ¡®Will that work?¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes. Take my word for it, Mr Linton is famous for his impersonations.¡¯


    Dear me. Mr Ambrose was capable of sarcasm? Wonder of wonders¡­


    As quickly as I could, I stripped. Then I took out the dress Mr Ambrose had so ungraciously provided and proceeded to put it on.


    Dressing took considerably longer than stripping. Not having Ella to help me this time, it took especially long to squeeze myself into the blasted corset. Finally, I was finished and took out a small mirror, about the only useful item ladies were allowed to carry.


    My hair still looked a bit windswept, but that was not a problem. On the contrary, it would work to my advantage. The dress looked just as it was supposed to look. The tailor had really done a spiffing job.


    Taking a deep breath, I stepped towards the door. Now for the first test. I opened the door, stepped out and did a little twirl.


    ¡®Well? What do you say, gentlemen?¡¯


    All of them were looking at me with interested expressions. Well, all apart from Mr Ambrose, who didn¡¯t have an expression on his stony face, and Karim, who had an expression but not one that I would like to describe.


    Warren stepped forward and nodded slowly.


    ¡®I¡¯ve got to hand it to you, Mr Linton, you know what you¡¯re doing. You look almost like a genuine girl.¡¯


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡®Almost?¡¯


    ¡®Well, you know¡­¡¯ he waved a hand in the air. ¡®When one knows the truth one isn¡¯t as easily fooled as everybody else. One just sees those little signs that indicate something is not quite right about you.¡¯


    ¡®You can say that again.¡¯


    That nice comment came from Mr Ambrose. ¡®Now, can we get on with this?¡¯


    We did get on. Or rather out, of the building to be exact. Then, to our employer¡¯s severe displeasure, we got into another cab and drove away. Our first stop was the Brown¡¯s Hotel in Albermarle Street. When the cabbie stopped his horses, I got out but held up my hand when Mr Ambrose moved to follow me.


    ¡®No. I¡¯ll go in alone.¡¯


    ¡®What? Do you intend to catch Simmons all on your own?¡¯


    ¡®No, of course not. I¡¯m just going to inquire if he¡¯s here.¡¯


    ¡®And they¡¯re going to tell you just like that, are they?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, actually they are.¡¯ I winked at him. ¡®Could you hand me my sack of onions please?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t. Instead he said: ¡®You can¡¯t go in there alone. It¡¯s much too risky.¡¯


    ¡®Risky?¡¯ Did he actually sound worried? Worried for me?


    ¡®I mean,¡¯ he added hurriedly, ¡®if Simmons should hear your questions and decide to flee before we can catch him.¡¯

 Page 57

    ¡®Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t let that happen. My onions, please?¡¯


    He hesitated a moment - then handed me the sack of onions, looking as though he had just bitten into one.


    Wordlessly, I turned and entered Brown¡¯s Hotel.


    Ten minutes later I was out again and climbed into the cab.


    ¡®He¡¯s not here,¡¯ I proclaimed. ¡®Let¡¯s go try the next one.¡¯


    ¡®How do you know?¡¯ demanded Mr Ambrose. Yet this was a demand I was not very disposed to comply with.


    ¡®You mean you can¡¯t guess, Sir?¡¯ I purred, smiling at him. ¡®Surely you are more intelligent than an insignificant little girl.¡¯


    The others laughed, thinking I had made a joke. Then they saw Mr Ambrose¡¯s expression and stopped laughing.


    Soon we stopped at another hotel. I entered, and ten minutes later I left again.


    ¡®Not here,¡¯ I stated. ¡®Let¡¯s go on.¡¯


    ¡®How,¡¯ Mr Ambrose asked, his voice dangerously low, ¡®do you know?¡¯


    We stopped at another hotel, and another, and another. After eight failures, Mr Ambrose¡¯s expression had turned from stony to steely. His hands were balled into fists.


    I climbed into the coach again, just returned from my latest excursion.


    ¡®He¡¯s not here either,¡¯ I said. ¡®Let¡¯s try the next one.¡¯


    ¡®How,¡¯ Mr Ambrose inquired, putting emphasis on each word, ¡®do-you-know?¡¯


    I smiled.


    ¡®Oh, it¡¯s just my female intuition.¡¯


    Stepping into the foyer of the Elderberry Hotel, I concealed myself behind one of the columns near the entrance, took the onion I had brought with me out of my pocket and cracked it in half. The strong smell immediately bit into my nose and brought tears to my eyes. Only with difficulty did I keep from sneezing.


    It took a while for my eyes to become significantly wet. Two or three times I checked in the large mirror on the wall. Did I look distressed enough yet? No, not quite. I needed to be really distraught. Overwhelmed. Terrified.


    When I was finally satisfied with my appearance, I let the onion drop and kicked it into the nearest corner. With an audible sob I staggered out from behind the column near the entrance as if I had just now come in.


    It wasn¡¯t easy to stumble and stagger like a real damsel in distress on my way to reception. This rather silly behaviour was somewhat annoying. But I did a great job, if I do say so myself. By the time I had reached reception and clutched the counter in an apparently desperate effort to keep myself upright, the man at reception had noticed me. Oh yes, most definitely he had noticed me.


    ¡®Um¡­ Miss¡­ Are you unwell?¡¯


    In response, I gave him a pretty impressive heartbroken wail and tottered precariously.


    ¡®Err¡­¡¯


    The receptionist was desperately trying to find a spot where he could grip me to support me without being improper. His eyes were wild, showing his panic and complete puzzlement about what to do with this female who had suddenly appeared in front of him. Finally, he hit on the perfect solution.


    ¡®Sarah! Hellen!¡¯ he called. But unfortunately, the female staff seemed to be out of hearing range.


    ¡®I¡­ no, don''t call anybody else, please,¡¯ I begged him in a low whisper. Compassion and panic mingled in the face of the young man. My, my, I was pretty good. If Mr Ambrose kicked me out some day I could always try a career as an actress. ¡®The shame is too great. Please, Sir, don''t¡¯


    ¡®Of course not, Miss, if it will distress you,¡¯ the receptionist answered warmly. ¡®Only tell me what is the matter with you and how I can help you. Do you wish a room to rest? You look in need of rest.¡¯


    ¡®No, I¡­¡¯ Shaking my head, I pressed my clenched hands to my face, half-concealing my features and wiping away a few of the tears that were running down my face. ¡®I don''t need a room. I came¡­ I came to¡­¡¯


    ¡®Yes? Yes?¡¯


    ¡®Oh no!¡¯ I half turned away from the young man, once again swaying from right to left as if I were about to fall. This was starting to be fun! ¡®I can¡¯t reveal the secret to another living soul! What he has done¡­ it is too shameful. My lips will not form the words. What he has done¡­ No, I cannot tell you. Even if he is here¡­¡¯


    ¡®Who, he?¡¯ demanded the young man. ¡®Has somebody harmed you?¡¯


    ¡®Please! Do not force me to speak of it!¡¯


    ¡®You said he was here. It is one of our guests who has harmed you?¡¯


    ¡®Please, Sir¡­ have pity¡­¡¯


    ¡®Miss,¡¯ he said gently, coming around the counter to stand directly in front of me, ¡®if one of our guests has behaved dishonourably to such a fine young lady as yourself, the honour of our house is in question. I must beg you, please, tell me who this man is and what he has done to you.¡¯


    I made a smile flicker across my face, with just the right amount of feminine feebleness and a pinch of sadness thrown in.


    ¡®You are too clever, too persistent for me, Sir. You are right. There is indeed a man I am looking for, a man who has done a grievous wrong. I have heard that he might be in this hotel, and have come in the hope of finding a gentleman willing to aid me. And now I have. Oh Sir, you have no idea how great a pleasure it is for a weak girl such as myself to find that there are still strong and honourable men in the world willing to stand up for what is right.¡¯


    The receptionist¡¯s narrow chest swelled. I fluttered my moist eyelashes at him and it swelled some more. I briefly wondered whether he had a balloon and a pump hidden under his shirt.


    ¡®Whatever wrong this man has done to you,¡¯ he promised, his voice a bit deeper than it had been before, ¡®I shall see to it that he gets what is coming to him.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you, Sir, thank you!¡¯ I clutched his hand with both of mine and gave it a gentle, grateful squeeze. As if I had squeezed a trigger, his chest puffed out a little more. Interesting. This seemed to be a reflex reaction with the brain playing no part in the decision. Well, in what part of the male decision-making process did the brain ever play a part?


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ I repeated. ¡®I shall be eternally grateful to you. But it is not to me that the wrong was done - it is to my sister.¡¯


    ¡®Oh.¡¯ The receptionist looked slightly crestfallen at this news, so I quickly ploughed on, giving him another sad smile. ¡®Oh yes, my poor, innocent little sister. Dear Ophelia.¡¯

 Page 58

    I had heard the name in a play once. It seemed to fit, because immediately, the concern on the face of the receptionist returned.


    ¡®She¡­ Oh, I can¡¯t bring myself to say it. You must understand, Sir, she has been educated in a convent. She does not know the ways of men who are no gentlemen, who are not like you. You must not judge her too harshly.¡¯


    I sniffled a bit more.


    ¡®What happened?¡¯ he gently enquired.


    ¡®She¡­ she eloped. A man staying in the village of the convent enticed her with honeyed words, sweet words of love and eternal devotion. He said he would marry her.¡¯


    The receptionist¡¯s mouth dropped open.


    ¡®How shocking!¡¯


    ¡®Oh no, Sir, the shocking part is yet to come. As I said - my sister is young, only sixteen years of age. She was deceived by his words.¡¯


    ¡®Deceived? Do you mean that when¡­¡¯


    ¡®When they had run away together, he¡­ he¡­¡¯ I closed my eyes at this point. It seemed the right thing to do. After all, I was in such terrible pain about my poor little sister Olivia. Or was it Olga? No, Ophelia, right! ¡®He used her and then threw her away like a soiled handkerchief, left her at the first inn where they stopped and disappeared into the night.¡¯


    ¡®The devil!¡¯


    ¡®Oh please, Sir, your language.¡¯


    ¡®I beg your pardon, Miss,¡¯ the receptionist said, his face reddened, ¡®but you must agree that only a demon in human guise, or perhaps a Frenchman, not an English gentleman, should be expected to behave in such a manner.¡¯


    ¡®I cannot argue with you, Sir. It is not in my power to offer anything in defence of that man. Even though I might not like the harsh terms in which you express your view of him, it is nevertheless justified.¡¯


    The receptionist, overcome with his emotions and his manliness for a moment, stood there mute, holding my hand in silent support.


    ¡®And what is to become of your sister now?¡¯ He asked after a moment. ¡®What will your father do?¡¯


    ¡®That is just the thing.¡¯ Renewed tears sprang to my eyes - and I didn¡¯t even have to use another onion. I wasn¡¯t just good at this, I was top-hole![24] A natural talent! ¡®We have not a father nor a mother, not even an uncle. We are all alone in the world, Ophelia and I, and have only each other.¡¯


    ¡®And your name is?¡¯


    That was something I had pondered for quite a while before starting to put this little plan of mine into action. I mean, Lilly Linton? That didn¡¯t sound very romantic. It clucked off the tongue, rebounded from the teeth and came shooting out of the mouth like cannon fire. No. I needed a name with weight. With romance. So why not let myself be inspired by romance?


    ¡®Juliet,¡¯ I said. ¡®Miss Juliet Desdemona Bennet.¡¯


    ¡®Miss Bennet, you have my sincerest condolences.¡¯ He pressed my hand again, with all the masculinity he could muster. ¡®Both for the death of your parents and the misfortune that has befallen you since. I stand in awe at your bravery, for I can see what has happened since. For love of your sister, you went out in search of this man, did you not? You, who had no one in the world, dared to go after such a monster?¡¯


    ¡®How could I not?¡¯ I asked, my voice wavering just right. ¡®Ophelia is my only sister. Her honour and happiness mean more to me than life itself.¡¯


    ¡®And you suspect him of staying in our hotel, this man?¡¯


    Oh boy. This was really working out nicely. Apparently I had delivered the first part of my performance so well that he was doing the rest of the job for me. So I just gave a shaky little nod.


    ¡®He shall be brought before the magistrate!¡¯ the receptionist proclaimed.


    ¡®Oh no! No, Sir, I beg of you!¡¯ Quickly I pressed his hand, which immediately caused some more chest-puffing. Yes, apparently this was a male reflex and worked quite automatically. Fascinating. ¡®If that were to happen, if the whole matter were to become public, my sister¡¯s honour would be forever ruined!¡¯


    ¡®Oh, I see.¡¯ Floundering for a moment, the receptionist enquired: ¡®But what, then, do you intend to do?¡¯


    ¡®I intend to confront him. To force him to marry my sister after all.¡¯


    ¡®You alone? Miss Bennet, that would be far too dangerous.¡¯


    ¡®I shall not be alone. There is a man - an old acquaintance of my father - who has promised to assist me. He cannot aid me in the search because he has his sick wife to take care of, but once I have found the miscreant, he has sworn he will come and place before the man the choice: to marry my sister or fight a duel to the death.¡¯


    The receptionist nodded solemnly.


    ¡®Then all that remains for me to do, Miss Bennet, is to determine whether or not you are right in your suspicion that this man is staying with us.¡¯


    Wonderful! I couldn¡¯t have put it better myself.


    ¡®Indeed, Sir,¡¯ I said, blinking up at him tearfully, ¡®that would be most kind.¡¯


    Most kind indeed. Now get on with it before the onion stops working.


    The receptionist went back behind the counter and picked up the big book in which all the guests signed their names. ¡®If you would be so good as to tell me his name, Miss?¡¯


    ¡®His name is Mr Simmons. But I doubt he would have used his real name to sign into your book. He knows he is being sought and will probably make use of an alias.¡¯


    ¡®How clever of you!¡¯ the receptionist exclaimed. ¡®I would never have thought of that.¡¯


    That, I believed.


    ¡®But then how will we find out if he is here?¡¯ he asked.


    ¡®I can give you his description,¡¯ I offered. Finally we were getting to the interesting part. ¡®My sister has told me exactly what he looks like. He has quite a distinctive appearance.¡¯


    ¡®Then please do.¡¯ The receptionist nodded eagerly. ¡®I see all the people who check into our hotel, and it is part of my job to have a good memory for faces. I will certainly be able to tell you whether he is here.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, I am so relieved.¡¯ I put a trembling hand over my heart. ¡®Thank you for your kindness, Sir. The man I am looking for is tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow.¡¯


    A curious expression spread over the receptionist¡¯s face: a mixture of disappointment and relief.


    ¡®Well, that is quite distinctive, Miss, and I can tell you right away that we have no one of that description living under our roof.¡¯

 Page 59

    ¡®Indeed?¡¯ I began to back up. ¡®Well¡­ then I was wrong. Sorry for your trouble.¡¯


    ¡®Wait a minute, Miss. What will you¡­¡¯


    ¡®I suppose I will have to go look somewhere else now. Bye!¡¯


    And I was out of the door.


    Outside Mr Ambrose awaited me, looking at his open watch and tapping his foot on the ground. His fingers were unconsciously tracing some pattern on the lid.


    ¡®And?¡¯ he asked as soon as he saw me.


    ¡®He¡¯s not here.¡¯


    ¡®How do you know that?¡¯ he growled through clenched teeth.


    I winked. ¡®Let¡¯s just say¡­ by the use of feminine wiles.¡¯


    Twenty-five hotels later.


    ¡®¡­ I don''t quite see. If you do not want the man brought before the law, what then do you intend to do?¡¯ the receptionist asked, concern in his voice. Gosh, it really was amazing how similar male minds were.


    ¡®I intend to confront him. To force him to marry my sister after all.¡¯


    ¡®All by yourself? Miss Bennet, that would be far too dangerous!¡¯


    Hey, he had actually said ''by yourself'' instead of ''alone''! So men were capable of some variety after all!


    ¡®I shall not be alone,¡¯ I answered, sniffling. ¡®There is a man - an old acquaintance of my father - who has promised to assist me. He cannot aid me in the search because he has his sick wife to take care of, but once I have found the miscreant, he has sworn he will come and place before the man the choice: to marry my sister or fight a duel to the death.¡¯


    The receptionist nodded solemnly.


    ¡®Then all I can do is to find out whether or not you are right in supposing this man to be staying with us.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed, Sir,¡¯ I said, blinking up at him tearfully, ¡®that would be most kind.¡¯


    The receptionist went back behind the counter and picked up the big book in which all the guests signed their names. ¡®If you would be so kind as to give me the man¡¯s name, Miss?¡¯


    Yes, if you would be so kind as to do a handstand and a few pirouettes for me! God, can none of you ever say anything really different? Men! All the same!


    ¡®His name is Mr Simmons. But I doubt he would have used his real name to sign into your book. He knows he is being sought and will probably make use of an alias.¡¯


    ¡®How ingenious!¡¯ the receptionist exclaimed. ¡®I would never have thought of that. But then how will we determine if he is here?¡¯


    Well, the same way I did it in the last twenty-five hotels, you dolt!


    ¡®I can give you his description,¡¯ I offered, having to restrain myself to keep from yawning. This was getting old. ¡®My sister has told me exactly what he looks like. He has quite a distinctive appearance.¡¯


    ¡®Then please do.¡¯ The receptionist nodded eagerly. ¡®I see all the people who check into our hotel, and it is part of my job to have a good memory for faces. I will certainly be able to tell you whether he is here.¡¯


    Yes, yes, of course you will¡­ Now can you stop blabbering so we can get on with this?


    ¡®Oh, I am so relieved.¡¯ I put a trembling hand over my heart. ¡®Thank you for your kindness, Sir. The man I am looking for is tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow.¡¯


    Again I had to suppress a yawn. Here we go again.


    A grim smile spread over the receptionist¡¯s face.


    ¡®Miss, I believe you have caught your villain! A man of just such a description is indeed staying under our roof at this very moment!¡¯


    The Thief


    My sleepiness vanished in an instant.


    ¡®A-are you sure?¡¯ I stuttered, this time not having to fake my feelings.


    I was floored. My plan had worked! It had actually worked! Of course I never doubted it would, in a theoretical, philosophical, let¡¯s-think-this-problem-through way, but to have it actually succeed - that was something else.


    ¡®Yes, quite sure, Miss. He¡¯s in room forty-five on the third floor.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ thank you.¡¯


    Suddenly, I realized that now I was going to have to go out and tell Mr Ambrose that I had found Simmons. All this time I had been so obsessed with finding the thief, with proving to my employer that I actually could be of some use, that I hadn¡¯t thought about what might happen when we finally did catch him.


    Now we had. And I was going to have to go out and tell that to Mr Ambrose, a man who didn¡¯t seem overly shy about taking the law and everything else he could into his own hands.


    I looked down at my own hands. Soon, I realized, I might have blood on them.


    But then, if you thought about it, it was a thief¡¯s blood. And who knew, I might even get a raise out of it.


    Before I could think better of it, I left the hotel and opened the cab door.


    ¡®We have him,¡¯ I said.


    All of them turned and stared at me as if I had just announced that the Duke of Wellington was a French pussycat.[25]


    ¡®You¡­ you mean to say Simmons is in there? In this hotel?¡¯ Warren asked.


    I rolled my eyes. ¡®No, he¡¯s in Siberia. Yes of course I meant he¡¯s in this hotel! What else do you think I¡¯m talking about?¡¯


    ¡®Well, that¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s quite impressive. Congratulations.¡¯


    Karim held up a hand.


    ¡®Do not give out congratulations, Warren Sahib, before we have proof of the truth. It is easy to say he is there.¡¯ He raised an eyebrow at me. ¡®But have you indeed seen the man we seek with your own eyes?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ I had to admit. ¡®But he is here.¡¯


    ¡®It is easy for you to say so, but he may be indeed farther than the stars and the sky.¡¯


    I turned to Mr Ambrose. ¡®Where did you pick this fellow up? Does he always talk like this?¡¯


    My employer chose to ignore this. He was examining me carefully without saying a word. Finally he inquired in a low voice:


    ¡®He is really there?¡¯


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ I said firmly. ¡®He is.¡¯


    ¡®Then let¡¯s go.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose was out of the cab and halfway across the street in a flash. His arms came up, one of them holding a cane I hadn¡¯t noticed before. He gestured, and Warren¡¯s men were suddenly out of the cab, too, spreading out in a loose semi-circle behind him.


    Six of them, together with Karim, remained at the entrance to the hotel while the rest, without needing any orders, followed him in. They seemed to be well accustomed to follow his silent commands.

 Page 60

    Well, I sure as hell wasn¡¯t! Cursing, I hurried after them.


    The doorman of the hotel seemed to be quite surprised at the company in which I was returning. His surprise, however, was nothing to that of the receptionist, whose mouth actually dropped open as we marched into the entrance hall. We passed him before he had a chance to say or do anything and were already up the first flight of stairs when we heard him call out.


    ¡®Where to?¡¯ Mr Ambrose inquired, completely ignoring the shout of the receptionist.


    ¡®Room forty-five on the third floor.¡¯ I called from behind. ¡®And slow down, will you? It¡¯s no easy job climbing stairs in this blasted corset!¡¯


    Will it surprise you to hear that he didn¡¯t slow down?


    Muttering a very unladylike curse, I sped up and managed to catch up with them just as they reached the third floor.


    Mr Ambrose stood on the landing like an admiral on the bridge. With his cane, he pointed at a door a little distance down the corridor bearing the large brazen number forty-five. Then he nodded to his men.


    Again the men seemed to understand without needing to be given orders. Two of them positioned themselves on either side of the door while another strode up directly to the entrance and knocked on the dark wood barring the way.


    There was a short silence. Then:


    ¡®Yes? What do you want?¡¯


    The voice was high and slightly arrogant. I could see it fitting perfectly to the man Mr Ambrose had described. Thin, blonde, and a bit vain.


    ¡®Room service, Sir,¡¯ Warren¡¯s associate replied in a perfect I-am-a-well-mannered-servant tone.


    ¡®Room service? I didn¡¯t order anything.¡¯


    ¡®I know, Sir. Compliments of the house, Sir. We always present a bottle of the best wine from our cellars to guests who stay longer than three days.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, if that¡¯s the case¡­¡¯ The scraping of a chair came from the other side of the door. ¡®Would be a shame to let it go to waste.¡¯


    Warren¡¯s man sprang to the side, and silent as a shadow Mr Ambrose took his place. I tried to move so that I could get a look at the door when it opened, but Warren held me back.


    ¡®Not yet!¡¯ he hissed. ¡®Wait until he opens the door!¡¯


    Steps approached from inside the room. I waited, counting my breaths in a futile attempt to calm myself. Suddenly I was wishing that I had changed back into trousers and a shirt before coming up here. Say what you will about the degradation and annoyance involved in pretending to be a man, it certainly gives you more freedom of movement.


    The door opened.


    Mr Ambrose nodded to whomever was on the other side.


    ¡®Hello, Simmons.¡¯


    I heard a startled yelp, and then the door moved to close so fast my eye hardly caught the movement. Mr Ambrose caught it, though.


    His foot darted forward and wedged itself between door and doorframe. He gripped the doorknob, the desperate man inside still struggling to push the door closed, and thrust it back with surprising strength. The door flew open.


    Then he stepped into the room.


    ¡®Now!¡¯


    Warren let go of my arm and I darted forward. I was in the room even before the six other men. Mr Ambrose was standing over a deathly pale Simmons, who lay on his back on the carpet.


    Taking an empty wine glass from a table beside him, Mr Ambrose raised it to the man on the floor in a mock toast.


    ¡®Bottoms up. I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t brought any wine. But I have brought a few of my friends.¡¯ The glass sailed out of his hand and crashed against the wall, splintering into a thousand pieces. Simmons twitched, but Mr Ambrose¡¯s face remained calm as an iceberg. ¡®Actually, it¡¯s not just the bottoms who are up,¡¯ he mused. ¡®It¡¯s the game, too.¡¯ His voice suddenly became hard, as impenetrable as a mountain of granite. ¡®Where is it, Simmons?¡¯


    ¡®H-how¡­ how,¡¯ stuttered the figure on the floor.


    ¡®How I found you?¡¯


    Mr Ambrose threw a look over his shoulder, and for a moment his dark eyes held mine, filled with an expression that was difficult to interpret.


    ¡®That is none of your concern,¡¯ he answered, returning his gaze to Simmons. ¡®I will ask the questions. Not you.¡¯


    ¡®N-no, Sir,¡¯ Simmons mumbled, his eyes darting right and left. ¡®I mean¡­ h-how can I ever thank you. Thank you for coming after me, I mean. There were these men¡­ they entered your office and took some things and forced me to come with them and¡­¡¯


    ¡®Simmons?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®If you utter another lie, you are a dead man.¡¯


    Mr Simmons¡¯ mouth remained open, but there didn¡¯t come one more sound out of it. He seemed to have gotten the message.


    Without paying any great deal of attention to the man on the floor, as if he were just another speck of dust, Mr Ambrose went over to the bed and flipped open the suitcase that lay there. It contained a few neatly folded shirts and trousers. With a flick of his cane, Mr Ambrose threw them aside.


    An involuntary gasp escaped me as hundreds of banknotes appeared beneath the clothes. I couldn¡¯t make out the numbers from where I stood, but I didn¡¯t really need to, to be able to tell that this was a lot of money. More than I had ever seen in my life.


    All for a piece of paper¡­


    What sort of paper could be worth that much?


    ¡®Strange baggage for an abducted man,¡¯ Mr Ambrose stated, calmly.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a sudden movement. When I turned my head I saw that Simmons was on his feet again and heading for the window.


    At first I thought he had gone insane or something and wanted to jump to his death - but then I saw that there was a building outside. A building with a flat roof.


    ¡®No! Get him!¡¯


    I sprang after him, trying to grab him. Unluckily, I forgot I was wearing a crinoline, got tangled up in the legs of a chair and fell to the ground with an unceremonious crunching sound. The last thing I saw was Simmons jumping out of the window, then my head slammed into the carpet and suddenly my eyes, mouth and nose were filled with fluffy dustiness.


    Crap!


    I lay there for a few moments, seething and breathing in dust motes. Somebody cleared his throat above me. I looked up to see Mr Ambrose extending his hand towards me.


    ¡®Do you need a hand?¡¯


    Reluctantly I reached out and grasped his hand. Don¡¯t ask me why - but for some reason I had expected his hand to be cold and hard, just like his personality. It wasn¡¯t. Oh, don''t misunderstand me, it was hard all right. But it also was warm and full of life. It felt strangely¡­ good. Considering the rest of him was so undoubtedly bad.

 Page 61

    With a sharp tug, he pulled me to my feet, and for a moment we stood very, very close to one another. I was standing again. And yet he didn¡¯t let go of my hand, and I didn¡¯t let go of his.


    Then I heard a triumphant cry from outside.


    ¡®Oh my God! Simmons!¡¯ Roughly, I pushed Mr Ambrose out of the way and sprang to the window. From behind me, I heard a hollow thud and an ''ouch'', but I didn¡¯t care. ¡®He¡¯s getting away!¡¯


    Now let me tell you, a hoop skirt is not the right kind of attire for climbing through open windows. But I was about to try anyway when a hand closed around my arm. A hard, familiar hand.


    ¡®Don¡¯t,¡¯ Mr Ambrose commanded. I looked back at him, confusion written all over my face.


    ¡®What do you mean, don''t? He¡¯s getting away!¡¯


    ¡®Yes, he is.¡¯


    ¡®We have to catch him!¡¯


    ¡®I appreciate your concern for the pursuit of justice, Mr Linton,¡¯ he said, as cool as a cucumber. ¡®Even though you did not really have to be so keen on that pursuit as to push me on my backside. However, we don''t want to go after Simmons just yet.¡¯


    ¡®But¡­¡¯


    ¡®We,¡¯ continued Mr Ambrose unperturbed, taking his old but very efficient-looking pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket, ¡®have to go after him in exactly one minute and twenty-seven seconds.¡¯


    ¡®Huh?¡¯


    I stared at him, flabbergasted. He, for his part, completely ignored me. His eyes focused on the watch, he simply stood there, waiting. I got edgier and edgier with every passing second. What the heck was going on?


    ¡®Mr Ambrose¡­ shouldn¡¯t we go?¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯


    ¡®But¡­ ¡®


    ¡®No. Be quiet!¡¯


    ¡®Blast it, I won¡¯t be quiet!¡¯ I balled my hands into fists. This was insane. ¡®I¡¯ve gone to a lot of trouble to find this thief, Sir! And now we¡¯re just standing around here while he makes good his escape, and we are waiting for your one minute and twenty-seven seconds to pass!¡¯


    ¡®Actually,¡¯ he said with another look at his watch, ¡®it¡¯s one minute and three seconds now.¡¯


    ¡®What the hell do I care? It makes no sense for us to just be standing around here!¡¯


    ¡®On the contrary, Mr Linton. It makes a great deal of sense. Now be quiet and wait.¡¯


    I was fuming. But what could I do? He was my master, not the other way around. I had to do what he said. That¡¯s what I got paid for, even if it didn¡¯t make any sense.


    With a snap Mr Ambrose shut his watch - and for the first time, I clearly saw the design on the lid. The sight struck me light a thunderbolt: it was a family crest. The same family crest I had seen on the pink letters from the mysterious lady.


    ¡®All right. It¡¯s time.¡¯


    Gripping the windowsill, he vaulted out of the open window. In quick succession, Warren and the others followed him. I just stood there, trying to shake off my shock.


    What did this mean? Was Mr Ambrose really a nobleman? But why wouldn¡¯t he use his¡­ I shook my head. No. Not now. I didn¡¯t have time for this now.


    Unfreezing, I started to follow the others through the window. It took me two or three attempts, and I probably broke half of the crinoline beneath my dress into pieces, but finally I managed to squeeze myself through the opening. With a crash of breaking hoops I landed on the neighbouring building.


    ¡®Very graceful,¡¯ Mr Ambrose commented from beside me. ¡®Now hurry up. We have a thief to catch.¡¯


    By the time I had managed to get to my feet, he was already striding along the roof towards the distant figure of Simmons. Striding, not running.


    Simmons, however, was running. Oh boy, how he was running. He already was off the flat roof of this building and onto the next, built right beside it. What was Mr Ambrose thinking? He still hadn¡¯t sped up, and he would never catch up with the thief at this pace!


    But Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t seem to mind. He strode along the roof, his cane in his hand, his six men flanking him, as though nothing in the world could escape him. Getting to my feet, I hurried after them as quickly as I could.


    But it would be no use. They weren¡¯t going to hurry up, I could see that now, and I wasn¡¯t in the best condition for a chase, wearing a broken hoop skirt and bruises in various places.


    With a cry of triumph, Simmons jumped onto the next building. There was some sort of structure on top - the entrance to a staircase that led down onto the street! He would do it! He would get away!


    Then the men appeared.


    They appeared as sudden as could be: from behind chimneys, gables and bay windows. They stood between Simmons and his escape. As soon as he saw them, he froze.


    I didn¡¯t understand until I saw the giant turban-wearing figure right in the middle of the men, opposite Simmons. Karim. The pack of wolves had cornered their prey.


    Catching up to Mr Ambrose, I hissed in his ear: ¡®You were planning this the whole time, weren¡¯t you? You sent Karim up on the roof before we went in!¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®So why did you leave me stewing like this? Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡¯


    His face remained completely expressionless. ¡®Hmm¡­ I really can¡¯t think why I did that. I mean, you have always been so open and honest with me.¡¯


    ¡®Oh ha, ha, ha.¡¯


    He threw a sideways glance at me and my hoop skirt, which now would have to be more appropriately described as a hexagonal skirt with severe sartorial malformation. ¡®By the way, Mr Linton, I like your new look. The dress looks exquisite on you. Those tears down the side and the broken whalebones - quite haute couture[26], I must say.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you, Sir,¡¯ I hissed. If looks could only kill, he would be already decapitated right now.


    Up ahead, Simmons had turned around and was chasing back over the roofs. Apparently he had thrown a look back earlier and seen nobody following and now expected the way to be clear. When he caught sight of the eight of us approaching, he stopped dead.


    Mr Ambrose nodded to his six men. They stopped walking, just standing still and watching. He himself took a few more steps forward until only a few yards separated him from his prey.


    ¡®Simmons,¡¯ he said in a level tone. That was all. Just the name.


    The thief looked around him with wild eyes, searching for a way to escape. But there was none. Then he looked down into the street. The few people who were walking down there in the fog had not looked up and noticed anything yet. They were totally oblivious to the goings-on far above their heads.

 Page 62

    Simmons opened his mouth.


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t do that,¡¯ Mr Ambrose warned. And there it was - that cool tone of superiority in his voice that solely belonged to old aristocracy. How come I had never noticed it before?


    With great effort, Simmons swallowed. His eyes darted to Mr Ambrose, and away again.


    ¡®D-do what?¡¯


    ¡®You were going to call out.¡¯


    ¡®Mr Ambrose, I never¡­¡¯


    ¡®Do you remember what I said would happen to you if I heard one more lie from your lips?¡¯


    The thin blonde man paled and took a step backwards.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose, Sir, please¡­¡¯


    With a few bold steps, Mr Ambrose stood in front of the quivering Simmons. He looked cold, hard, and implacable - a lord or even a king sitting in judgement over his traitorous subject. I didn¡¯t want to be in my predecessor¡¯s shoes right now.


    ¡®The file, Simmons. Where is it?¡¯


    The intensity in his voice¡­ again, curiosity welled up in me as to the contents of that damned file. Maybe, if I asked Mr Ambrose again¡­


    The other said nothing, but just continued to quiver where he stood.


    ¡®Where is the file, Simmons?¡¯


    No answer.


    ¡®For the last time - where is the file?¡¯ Mr Ambrose¡¯s voice had gotten colder as he spoke and now sounded sharp and dangerous as an iceberg. ¡®You will give it to me, or¡­ or¡­ or maybe you cannot.¡¯ His dark eyes widened a little. ¡®The money on your bed¡­ You have already been paid for your theft! You haven¡¯t got the file anymore. It is¡­¡¯


    Simmons dashed forward and tried to push past Mr Ambrose. He grabbed the ex-secretary¡¯s arm and Simmons whirled around. His hand disappeared under his tailcoat for a moment and reappeared holding a short but wickedly sharp-looking sword.[27]


    I think I gave a shout or scream or something, I didn¡¯t really know. Everything happened in a blur of motion. The blade of Simmons'' sword came up and would have stabbed Mr Ambrose in the gut, but then it smashed against something I couldn¡¯t see, and a metallic sound rang out over the rooftops.


    Mr Ambrose sprang back, holding his cane defensively in front of him. His wooden cane? But then what had made that metallic sound?


    Gripping its lower part with the left hand, Mr Ambrose pulled at the hilt of his cane with the right, and a slim blade shot out of the hollow wood. He raised it in a defensive position and waited.


    Simmons came at him, giving a loud screech that sounded hardly human. Their blades met with a clang. Mr Ambrose held him in that position, blade to blade


    ¡®You¡¯re finished, Simmons,¡¯ he said, voice still perfectly cool.


    ¡®Really?¡¯ Simmons grunted. ¡®What makes you think you¡¯ll beat me?¡¯


    ¡®He does.¡¯ Mr Ambrose nodded to something behind Simmons.


    Before the ex-secretary could turn around, Karim stepped up behind him and let the pommel of his sabre come down on his head with a resounding thud. Simmons crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.


    ¡®Simmons, Simmons.¡¯ Mr Ambrose shook his head and looked down at the groaning man. ¡®You really are a simpleton.¡¯ Bending down, he pried the sword from Simmons'' hand. ¡®That petty stash of money we found in your room - you should have asked three times as much. Considering the trouble you¡¯re in now, it would only have been appropriate.¡¯


    Grabbing Simmons by the neck he hauled him to his feet and more or less hurled the man at Karim, who caught him and delivered another blow to his head that knocked him clean unconscious.


    ¡®Let¡¯s go,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said. ¡®We¡¯re finished here.¡¯


    The unconscious ex-secretary slung over one shoulder, Karim strode to the staircase entrance that Simmons had been heading for. Apparently, he and the other men had come up this way and had made preparations for coming down again, for when we had climbed down the stairs and left the building, a coach was waiting for us. Not a cab this time, but a real, large coach, with one of those discreetly-dressed men, of which Warren seemed to have an infinite supply, sitting on the box.


    The coach was parked directly in front of the entrance, so nobody could see us as we climbed inside. I glanced at Mr Ambrose. Or was he more than just a mister? Images whirled through my head¡­ A noble crest¡­ A suitcase full of money¡­ Flashing swords¡­


    You should have asked three times as much.


    Heavens above. What could be worth that much money? What would be worth the risk of betraying this man?


    ¡®What an extravagant vehicle,¡¯ I remarked, trying to dispel my dark thoughts. ¡®I¡¯m quite surprised that you would use something as expensive as this.¡¯


    ¡®I did a cost-benefit analysis,¡¯ he replied, drily, pointing to Simmons limp body. ¡®And I decided the benefit of not getting thrown into prison for abduction was worth the cost of a coach.¡¯


    ¡®Very wise, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®Agreed, Mr Linton. Pull down the blinds.¡¯


    I rolled my eyes. ¡®You could at least say please.¡¯


    ¡®I could, if I wanted to. Now pull down the blinds.¡¯


    The coach had dark blinds on all windows. Once they were pulled down, the interior was quite sinister. It brought back what I had seen on the roof - or at least what I had thought I had seen. Had Mr Ambrose really pulled a sword on Simmons? What kind of man was he to carry a concealed weapon in his cane? What kind of man was he to deny a noble title?


    The same questions, over and over again.


    No. That wasn¡¯t quite true. There was one new question I had, and one I didn¡¯t feel quite so apprehensive about voicing.


    ¡®What was all that about?¡¯ I wanted to know. ¡®That chasing him over the rooftops. Why didn¡¯t we just grab him there in the room?¡¯


    Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t look at me. Instead, he kept his dark eyes fixed on the unconscious Simmons. But he replied, in his usual curt tone: ¡®To make things easier for us.¡¯


    ¡®I don''t understand. How is having to chase him over the rooftops making things easier for us?¡¯


    Apparently not in the mood to give lengthy explanations, Mr Ambrose waved to his hired henchmen.


    Warren cleared his throat. ¡®It¡¯s easier because if we had brought him out through the hotel¡¯s front entrance, or tried to drag him out of the window by force, he would have screamed for help. The guests or hotel staff would have heard and called the police. This way, he attempted to flee, believing that there was still a chance to make a quiet escape. We caught him without anyone being able to interfere.¡¯

 Page 63

    ¡®Ah.¡¯ Slowly I nodded. ¡®I see.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose nodded, too. ¡®Exactly. And now¡­¡¯ He took a deep breath. If he were capable of something like emotion, I could have sworn it sounded satisfied. ¡®Now I can deal with him as I see fit.¡¯


    Deal with him as I see fit.


    The sentence reverberated in the air with dark promise.


    Mr Ambrose raised his cane and knocked against the roof of the coach. ¡®Take us to Empire House,¡¯ he called to the driver. ¡®The back entrance. We have something to deposit safely in the cellar.¡¯


    The cellar? What did he want to put in the ce- oh.


    My eyes flicked to Simmons. Of course.


    Unbidden, something I had once read in one of my father¡¯s old history books fluttered into my mind. What did earls and lords do when they discovered a traitor among their men? If I remembered correctly, after prolonged torture in some dark dungeon, the traitor in question would be hanged, drawn and quartered.


    Oh my God. If Mr Ambrose really was an aristocrat, I fervently hoped he wasn¡¯t one to keep up old traditions.


    Making Lieutenant-Pancake


    My ear pressed against the solid metal door, I listened intently for any sound of torture. Not that I knew exactly what torture would sound like, apart from the screaming, of course, which was pretty much a given. Still, it couldn¡¯t hurt to try. Not me, at least, I thought with a tiny shiver.


    Considering Mr Ambrose¡¯s words, and even more than that the expression of his eyes, I had no doubt that something terrible was happening in there right now. But I couldn¡¯t hear a single sound. Was something the matter with my ears?


    But then I suddenly heard footsteps approaching from the other side and hurriedly stepped backwards. A key turned in the lock, and Mr Ambrose exited the room, a ring with a large assortment of keys in his hand.


    ¡®And?¡¯ I asked. God, I was becoming as monosyllabic as he.


    ¡®We¡¯ve managed to get him awake, but he won¡¯t talk.¡¯ Looking down, I saw that Mr Ambrose¡¯s hand was clenched to a fist around the ring of keys. ¡®Whoever paid him to do this, they must be powerful and frightening.¡¯


    ¡®How do you know this?¡¯


    He fixed me with his steely dark gaze. ¡®Because I am powerful and frightening, and he hasn''t told me a single thing yet. But he will, eventually.¡¯


    How do you know that? How can you be so sure?


    Yet those thoughts were not what I spoke out loud. Instead, out spilled the question that had been plaguing me the entire way back to Empire House, the question which I never thought I would have the gall to ask:


    ¡®Will you torture him?¡¯


    He looked at me, supreme disdain in his eyes. ¡®No. Of course not.¡¯


    A momentous weight, which I hadn¡¯t really known was there, dropped from my shoulders. ¡®Thank the Lord!¡¯ I breathed. ¡®I almost thought¡­¡¯


    ¡®Why would I sully my own hands?¡¯ he continued, cutting me off. ¡®I have people who attend to tasks like that for me.¡¯


    ¡®Oh.¡¯


    The weight slammed right back in place.


    My mood swing had apparently gone completely unnoticed. He motioned towards the closed steel door behind him with a careless finger. ¡®I have put Karim in charge of the investigation, and he has his methods.¡¯


    ¡®Methods like what?¡¯ I demanded. Darn, this was¡­ frightening. Something inside me told me I should report this to the police. But if I did that, I would end up on Mr Ambrose¡¯s list of traitors, barring all chances of my independence. I was too selfish to risk my entire future on behalf of some greedy little thief I didn¡¯t know from Adam. All right, I know I¡¯m not a very good person! But at least I¡¯ll get paid for it soon.


    Mr Ambrose still hadn¡¯t answered. He was looking at me intently.


    ¡®Methods like what?¡¯ I repeated the question.


    ¡®That¡¯s nothing a lady such as yourself needs to concern yourself about.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, I¡¯m a lady now, am I?¡¯


    ¡®Currently, it looks like it,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said, gesturing towards my dishevelled dress. ¡®More or less, at least. It¡¯s high time that you got back into your trousers though, Mr Linton.¡¯


    I narrowed my eyes.


    ¡®Why? Do you have work for me, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®No. I¡¯m sending you home early.¡¯


    I was about to protest when he raised his hands. ¡®I know. I agreed¡­¡¯ he paused to take a deep breath and with effort said: ¡®I agreed to let you work for me, just like any other private secretary. This is not an attempt to get rid of you early. I¡¯m giving you half the day off because you¡¯ve had an exhausting day so far. Trust me, even if you don''t notice it now, you¡¯ll notice once the excitement of the hunt goes away. You need to rest, and I need to stay with Karim for a bit longer, so right now I don¡¯t have anything for you to do. Tomorrow you will come back, and you will work for me as hard as anybody else.¡¯


    For a moment I searched his face, trying to determine whether or not he was being truthful. Of course it didn¡¯t work. Not with his standard stony expression.


    ¡®Promise?¡¯ I asked.


    He nodded. ¡®I promise on my honour as a gentleman.¡¯


    ¡®But¡­¡¯ I hesitated before asking the question. ¡®But I¡¯ll still have to come dressed up as a man?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯ His voice was as hard as granite. ¡®I cannot and will not accept a female secretary. I will not be made a fool of in front of the entire city. Either you come dressed as a man, or you never return.¡¯


    I nodded. This was hard for me to accept, but it was unavoidable. I turned to leave, but Mr Ambrose called me back, and so I turned again.


    ¡®What is it, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®You know very well what it is. I want to know.¡¯


    ¡®Want to know what?¡¯


    ¡®Your method, of course. Well?¡¯


    ¡®What method? What are you talking about?¡¯ I asked, truly bewildered.


    A muscle in his jaw twitched in an annoyed sort of way. ¡®Don¡¯t play games with me! How did you do it? Find out where Simmons was?¡¯


    Ah! That was what was eating him. I struggled mightily to constrain my grin but probably failed.


    ¡®How about a deal?¡¯ I said. ¡®I tell you my method, and you tell me what¡¯s in the stolen file?¡¯


    His silence was answer enough.


    Once again, I saw that mountain of money in front of my inner eye. And he had said it was too little payment¡­

 Page 64

    ¡®I won¡¯t tell a soul,¡¯ I said. ¡®I promise!¡¯


    ¡®No!¡¯ He shot a glare at me. ¡®I don''t have to make any deals with you. You work for me. You will tell me how you did it. Now!¡¯


    I hesitated. ¡®Well¡­¡¯


    I told him. I told him everything, with probably a bit more embellishment and gloating than necessary, but accurately enough. It had worked after all, hadn¡¯t it? There was no harm in taking pride in my work.


    When I was finished, his stony face was even stonier than before - but his eyes were slightly wider as he gazed at me, and his mouth stood open a fraction.


    ¡®Still sure you don''t want a female secretary?¡¯ I asked.


    Then, before he could answer, I curtsied and hurried away.


    I had decided to change back into men¡¯s clothes in my office. It would mean that I would have to change again when I came home, but under no circumstances could I go home in the dress Mr Ambrose had bought for me. None of my family had ever clapped eyes on it before, and besides, it wasn¡¯t in very great shape. I was a bit concerned about changing in my office - after all, I couldn¡¯t lock the doors, so what if anybody came in? - but there really wasn¡¯t anywhere else to go.


    As it turned out, my concern was totally unnecessary. On the desk in my office I found a small package. A note was pinned to it, saying:


    Dear Mr Linton,


    Mr Ambrose instructed me to leave these for you. A friendly word of caution: It is very unusual for his secretary to be entrusted with these around the clock. Take good care of them.


    Yours Sincerely,


    Edgar Stone


    My curiosity spiked. What was in there? Well, there was only one way to find out. I ripped open the paper around the package, and in a little cardboard box I found a ring of keys, not as large as the one Mr Ambrose had been carrying but still substantial. On it hung a key labelled Secretary¡¯s Office and another labelled Head Office.


    Slowly, a smile spread over my face. He trusted nobody, hm? Well, maybe he was making an exception to the rule.


    Then I noticed that there was no key labelled Safe on the ring. Well, it seemed as though he was starting to trust me, at least.


    But then, why was he still refusing to reveal the contents of the file¡­?


    I stood there, clutching the set of keys to my chest, feeling oddly emotional. Why, though? Why should it matter to me whether or not my master trusted me? He was just the man I was working for. A man who had yet to pay me my first wages at the end of the month. Whether or not he trusted me was immaterial, as long as I got the money, right?


    Yet still, the fact that he was opening up to me touched something deep within me. I felt that maybe, just maybe, he might be starting to respect me. If not as a woman, then at least as an intelligent human being with a head on its shoulders, provided I wore trousers.


    Taking the ring of keys, I locked both doors to my office and started the mind-numbing process of changing.


    You don''t think there¡¯s anything more difficult than getting out of a corset and crinoline? Try getting out of a corset and crinoline which are broken and bent in strange angles in at least a dozen places. I felt like a cat trying to squeeze myself through a labyrinth of rat holes.


    When I finally stood only in my underwear, it was a relief. I was just about to reach for Uncle Bufford¡¯s trousers when a knock came from the door, and the door rattled as someone pushed against it.


    I almost jumped out of my skin.


    ¡®Y-yes?¡¯ I asked, not sounding very manly at all. I cleared my throat and tried again. ¡®Yes?¡¯


    ¡®Mr Linton? It¡¯s me, Mr Stone. May I come in?¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ not as such, no.¡¯


    ¡®Why? Are you busy?¡¯


    No, I¡¯m standing around in women¡¯s underwear, which, apart from being pretty indecent, makes it more or less obvious that I¡¯m a girl!


    ¡®Um¡­ yes, that¡¯s it. Very busy. Very, very, very busy in fact.¡¯


    ¡®I see. Well then, I won¡¯t disturb you any further. I just wanted to ask if you found the keys all right?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, I did.¡¯


    Yes I did, thank God, or else my office door wouldn¡¯t be locked right now, and you¡¯d be staring at me in my drawers!


    ¡®Very well. I understand you¡¯re leaving now, Mr Linton?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®And Mr Ambrose?¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s very, very busy, too, Mr Stone.¡¯


    ¡®I see. Well, I¡¯ll leave you alone then. Till tomorrow.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, goodbye, Mr Stone.¡¯


    I heard him moving away and let out the breath I had been holding. I¡¯m not sure what Mr Ambrose¡¯s reaction would be to someone discovering my true gender, but he wouldn¡¯t be jumping up and down with joy, that much I could tell. Maybe he would be jumping up and down on me instead, wearing iron-shod boots.


    Though he probably would shrink from such a display of emotion. He would get Karim to do it. The big fellow would be excellently suited for the task and all too happy to oblige. For some reason, the thought brought a smile to my face.


    Grabbing Uncle Bufford¡¯s trousers, I dressed in my unusually usual outfit again and left the office, locking the door behind me. Not that I thought somebody might steal my fountain pen, it just was a good feeling. My space. My door. My key. Stuffing the keys securely into my deepest pocket, I began the long descent down to street level.


    I didn¡¯t call a cab. Luxuries like that would have to wait until I actually received my first pay cheque. Instead I walked home slowly, enjoying for the first time in my life the feeling I had done something useful. No sitting around trying to knit or sew, no silly whirling around in a ballroom full of overdressed nitwits. I had been out there in the real, rough world. And I would return there soon.


    My exultation lasted all the way home. As I went in through the garden door and into the shed to change, slowly my feelings of joy waned and I suppressed a yawn. God, my legs hurt from all that running over roofs. The real world was pretty tiring.


    As I approached the front door, another concentrated wave of tiredness hit me. Mr Ambrose had been right, today had been exhausting. I needed some rest, and I needed it quick. Fortunately, nothing was likely to get in the way of that. My aunt was sure to be too busy with my other sisters to care if I was lazy and slept through the afternoon.


    That was when I first heard the excited chatter from inside the house. Strange¡­ It sounded like we had a visitor. But who would come to visit us? I had to be mistaken.

 Page 65

    The moment I stepped into the house, though, the door to the salon flew open and my aunt appeared in the doorway. ¡®There she is!¡¯ She exclaimed, a triumphant smile on her face. ¡®And just in time. Lilly, my dear, I have a wonderful surprise for you!¡¯


    Oh-oh. That didn¡¯t sound good.


    ¡®What surprise?¡¯ I yawned, and blinked furiously to keep my eyes open.


    ¡®Look who has come to visit you,¡¯ my aunt replied smiling, and waved invitingly to somebody in the room. Footsteps could be heard, and then, directly beside my aunt¡¯s triumphant visage, appeared the arrogantly smiling face of Lieutenant Ellingham.


    He bowed.


    ¡®Miss Linton. How delighted I am to see you again.¡¯


    I straightened, and my eyes narrowed. His arrogant smile widened.


    Delighted, eh? We¡¯ll see whether you still feel like that in five minutes, Mister¡­


    ¡®¡­ killed every last one of the savages with my own hands. They were fearsome enemies, but my superior fighting skills struck fear into their hearts which they could not overcome.¡¯


    Lieutenant Ellingham thumped his chest theatrically.


    ¡®At last, only the big grey beast was left, and so I charged forward and stuck my sabre right into its belly! It collapsed dead on the spot!¡¯


    The lieutenant finished his narration with a flourish of the arm, simulating a sabre thrust.


    ¡®Marvellous! Simply marvellous!¡¯ My aunt, Maria, Anne and Lisbeth applauded enthusiastically, and even Ella moved her hands together a bit, though by no means so forcefully that it could actually be heard.


    ¡®What an impeccable display of courage,¡¯ Anne proclaimed, fluttering her eyelashes at the lieutenant. ¡®To think that you all alone went up against a raiding party of twenty-one savages, and charged such a terrifying monster as an elephant! This is the kind of bravery that made the British Empire what it is today!¡¯


    ¡®Yes, really amazing,¡¯ I yawned.


    The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. ¡®Praise from you, Miss Linton? That is a rare gift indeed. Thank you very much. I am delighted to hear you appreciate my bravery in the face of danger.¡¯


    I had to work hard to keep a smirk off my face. ¡®That¡¯s not really what I was talking about. I think it¡¯s amazing that you¡¯re sitting here alive.¡¯


    ¡®That is due to his bravery,¡¯ Maria pointed out, which the lieutenant acknowledged with a graceful bow of the head.


    ¡®More to a miracle,¡¯ I disagreed. ¡®You stabbed the elephant into its belly? From below?¡¯


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ The lieutenant¡¯s voice was suddenly cautious. I had to say that up to this point the conversation had rather bored me. But now I was enjoying myself.


    ¡®You see, that¡¯s what I find so amazing,¡¯ I mused. ¡®The elephant collapsed, and you were standing right underneath. Yet you are sitting here alive on our couch and are not flattened to some part of the Indian soil as lieutenant-pancake.¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ well¡­ the elephant fell to the side?¡¯


    ¡®To the side?¡¯ I asked sweetly. ¡®Onto the savages that you were still busy fighting off?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®The ones you said you had already killed before the elephant attacked?¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­¡¯


    ¡®Be silent, child,¡¯ my aunt chided me. Then, turning to Lieutenant Ellingham, she continued: ¡®You must excuse my niece, Sir. She has led a very sheltered life and knows little of the ways of the world. Certainly she is totally inexperienced in such manly activities as you have described.¡¯


    He nodded graciously. ¡®That is no problem, Madam. Maybe,¡¯ he said, throwing a suggestive glance in my direction, ¡®I could show her a few manly activities. Then she would not be so ignorant anymore.¡¯


    I thought I was going to be sick.


    ¡®Which brings me to the point of my visit,¡¯ Lieutenant Ellingham continued, rising and extending his hand to me. ¡®Which is to enquire whether Miss Lillian Linton would wish to go for a walk with me. There is a beautiful park outside your house, and I am sure there are some things she has not seen there before.¡¯


    There were various possible answers to that:


    Oh yes, of course there are things I haven¡¯t seen yet in the park. I¡¯ve only lived here for over a decade of my life.


    Or:


    Hey, you can talk to me directly, you know! I¡¯m right here in the room.


    Or better yet:


    Go for a walk with you? I¡¯d rather go for a walk with a drunken French sailor!


    But then I saw my aunt¡¯s face over the lieutenant¡¯s shoulder and decided on the more diplomatic:


    ¡®Um¡­ I don''t know. I think I know my way around the park pretty well already. But thanks for the offer.¡¯


    ¡®That is no matter,¡¯ he said, waving my answer away. ¡®It is not the park I wished to see when coming here, but you. It is not the lush green trees I wish to enjoy, but your company, Miss Linton.¡¯


    Ugh! So much for diplomacy!


    He extended his hand farther. Over his shoulder my aunt glared at me, promising death and destruction if I made the wrong choice now. Wasn¡¯t there any way to get out of this?


    Then I thought: Come on, it¡¯s only a walk. It¡¯s not like he¡¯s asking you to marry him. Well, not yet anyway. What harm can a walk do?


    Preferring not to think about the answer to that question, I took his hand and faked as believable a smile as possible.


    ¡®I would be delighted to take a walk through the park,¡¯ I told him, neglecting to mention that the same wasn¡¯t true for having him along as company.


    He took my hand. It felt moist and alien. Holding it was a repellent feeling, like having a bug crawl up your arm. But I smiled bravely as I let him lead me out of the room. At least this would keep my aunt happy.


    As we left the room, I couldn¡¯t help a thought shooting through my head: how very, very different this hand felt from that of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.


    ¡®¡­and I was standing there, you see? Two hundred feet away from the Indian, and even farther away from the young lady he was running towards, knife in hand. I knew I couldn¡¯t reach him or her in time. Yet I also knew that I was a crack shot.¡¯


    Personally, I would have called him a crackpot rather than crack shot.


    I was walking beside Lieutenant Ellingham through Green Park. His promise to show me new spots in the park was long forgotten. He was far too busy entertaining me with stories of his supposed adventures in India. So far, he had killed about three hundred seventy-nine so-called ¡®savages,¡¯ thirteen elephants, five lions and one giraffe. Quietly I wondered whether he actually thought me stupid enough to believe above one word in ten.

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    ¡®I took out my rifle, aimed, and bamm! He lay dead on the ground, shot through the heart. The medicine man of his tribe had never seen a gun shot before. So he and all the other Indians believed I was a god of some sort and freed the young lady when I commanded it.¡¯


    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯ I interrupted. ¡®Medicine man? Tribe? I thought you were talking about Indians that live in India, not the kind that live in America. Only those have medicine men, or tribes.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, really?¡¯ The lieutenant shrugged. ¡®Well, maybe he was on holiday in India. These savages are strange people, you know?¡¯


    ¡®I can think of some that are even stranger,¡¯ I muttered, but he either didn¡¯t hear it or wasn¡¯t very well-versed in sarcasm.


    After that, he didn¡¯t start telling any adventure stories again. Well, he had talked for the last half hour pretty much non-stop. Maybe it was time I contributed something to the conversation. But what could I say apart from, ¡®You may have a square jaw and a whitewashed smile, but you are the most odious man I ever met. Get the hell away from me right now, because I never ever wish to see you again. And by the way, I don''t like you, and you smell funny.¡¯


    The face of doom, otherwise known as the face of my aunt, appeared in front of my inner eye, staring at me ferociously. Oh well, I guess I could at least make a tiny effort to be civil.


    ¡®Err¡­ you seem to have led a very exciting life so far. Rescuing ladies¡­ shooting Indians¡­ must be fun. I mean the rescuing of ladies, not the other part.¡¯


    He sighed like a wise, worldly man talking to a silly student.


    ¡®Actually, the shooting is the part that is more fun. The ladies get tiresome over time. They are always so overwhelmed by thankfulness. So many ladies have shown interest in me that I have really grown tired of what is called the fair sex.¡¯


    ¡®Oh well, if that is so, you¡¯re probably very tired of my society,¡¯ I jumped at the opportunity. ¡®I should leave you immediately.¡¯


    ¡®On the contrary.¡¯ Shaking his head, he turned to me with an arrogant grin on his face. ¡®It is that fact that made me come to you.¡¯


    What?


    ¡®You¡¯re so unlike the other ladies,¡¯ he continued. ¡®Other ladies sigh and whimper to get a man¡¯s attention. You on the other hand - you are feisty! You insult me and push me back - but I¡¯ve figured you out! It¡¯s your way of saying you¡¯re attracted to a man.¡¯


    What the¡­!


    ¡®It¡¯s no great surprise, I suppose.¡¯ He took a step closer to me, his eyes gleaming with some dark emotion that made me shiver all over. I remembered my earlier thoughts about what could possibly happen on a walk in the park, and the unwelcome idea occurred to me that I might be about to find out first hand.


    I didn¡¯t like the expression on his face, not at all. He no longer looked like the pleasant, if slightly arrogant, young man of a few minutes ago. He now looked like a very, very nasty arrogant young man. And his eyes were fixed on me.


    Desperately I looked around for anybody, but we were standing hidden behind a clump of trees. No help was in sight.


    ¡®You¡¯ve had no proper upbringing, aren¡¯t even a proper lady,¡¯ he was saying. ¡®But that actually could make you quite fun, you know? Ladies are very restrained, but I¡¯m sure you would be more open to¡­ amusement.¡¯


    Taking another step forward, he leaned towards me. I didn¡¯t even know where it came from. My hand just to seem to appear out of thin air and make contact with his cheek.


    Slap!


    ¡®Don¡¯t you dare touch me!¡¯ I snarled.


    I thought maybe he would be angry. Or he would back off. Instead, he laughed.


    ¡®That¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about,¡¯ he chuckled, his eyes dancing. ¡®It¡¯s really been getting annoying, so many girls throwing themselves at me because of my good looks and my position as an officer. You¡¯re different. A challenge.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ll give you a challenge if you don''t back off!¡¯ I threatened, raising my hand again. Taking a leisurely step backwards, he cocked his head.


    ¡®Plus, you¡¯re from a good family. Most of those stuck-up mothers at Sir Philip¡¯s ball wouldn¡¯t have let a poor soldier like myself near one of their daughters. But your aunt¡­ I think she¡¯d be happy if she could convince a beggar to take you. If I made you mine, she¡¯d be delighted - and so would I. Granted, you don''t have money, and neither does your family, so the dowry won¡¯t be worth marrying for, but in the military a good name is more often of greater worth. You have that, so you¡¯ll suit me admirably. The only thing that remains is for me to make it official.¡¯


    ¡®Official? What are you talking about?¡¯


    ¡®Why, marrying you of course.¡¯


    My eyeballs almost dropped out of my head. ¡®Marriage? I¡¯m not getting married to anybody! And most certainly not to you!¡¯


    He sneered. ¡®What? You¡¯d prefer a covert thing between us? I wondered whether that might be more your style.¡¯


    Covert thing? What kind of covert thing? The glint in his eyes told he was talking about something dark, something far less innocent than my little sister¡¯s secret meetings in the back garden. I had no idea what exactly and, honestly, I didn¡¯t want to find out.


    ¡®But I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t help you there,¡¯ he continued. ¡®I¡¯m a gentleman and unfortunately have to behave as such. I shall have to wait until we are married before I can start taming you.¡¯


    ¡®Go now,¡¯ I said, making my voice icy in my best imitation of Rikkard Ambrose. ¡®Right now! Or I will scream until the entire city of London comes running!¡¯


    He hesitated - then shrugged.


    ¡®Very well, just as you like.¡¯ The bastard had the audacity to wink at me! ¡®But I will get you, make no mistake. And you know you¡¯ll enjoy it when I do.¡¯


    I wondered whether there were smaller, feminine versions of that handy cane-sword that Mr Ambrose had used the other day. If so, I was going to buy myself one with my very first pay cheque. Occasions like this required a weapon more effective than a parasol.


    ¡®Who do you think you are?¡¯ I hissed at him. ¡®You can¡¯t just say such things to me! Who the hell do you think you are?¡¯


    ¡®I?¡¯ He raised an arrogant eyebrow. ¡®I am your suitor.¡¯


    ¡®My what?¡¯


    ¡®Your suitor. I want you, and I¡¯m going to get you one way or another.¡¯

 Page 67

    ¡®No you won¡¯t! Not when I tell my family what you dared to say to me!¡¯


    ¡®Oh really?¡¯ His eyebrow wandered up another inch. ¡®I have witnessed how very, um¡­ dear you are to your aunt. Whom do you think she will believe? Bright, brilliant young Lieutenant Ellingham or a niece who can¡¯t even behave herself properly at her first ball?¡¯


    He raised his hat to me and made a slight, mocking bow.


    ¡®Good day to you, Miss Linton. I look forward to seeing you again.¡¯


    And he walked away.


    Blast! If only he hadn¡¯t vanished that quickly! I might have punched him! Or bitten him! Or¡­


    All right. I admit it. The thoughts that ran through my head as I walked through the streets of London, towards home, weren¡¯t the most romantic ones for a girl to whom a man had just as good as proposed. But then, it hadn¡¯t been the most romantic quasi-proposal. In fact, even I, who was definitely not an expert on quasi-proposals, could say that it had been about as romantic as a bucket of vomit.


    Which, by the way, was also a very fitting description of my suitor.


    ¡®Bloody bastard! Oh, the next time I see him, I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll¡­¡¯


    I couldn¡¯t even find the words. Maybe I would have to sneak into the room where Mr Ambrose was holding Simmons, to get some inspiration on torture.


    ¡®Something spiky¡­ with wicked screws, maybe!¡¯


    Only when I got home and saw my aunt¡¯s delighted harpy-smile as she looked at the latest flowers Lieutenant Ellingham had sent did I fully realize the son of a bachelor had been right.


    Bugger! She really expects me to marry him!


    A shiver ran down my back when I also realized that I was not in a good position to do anything against it. I was still under age. My legal guardians could dispose of me however they wished - and my aunt was very efficient in the disposal of rags, hen droppings, penniless relatives and other garbage.


    Even were I already an adult, what could I do? I was dependent on others to pay for the food I ate, the bed I slept in and the roof over my head. It was those people who ruled my life. I had no money of my own.


    Or at least, the thought shot through my head, that was true until very recently.


    ¡®Thank the Lord!¡¯ I breathed.


    Never before had I been so glad that I had run into a certain stone-faced businessman that day on the way to the polling station. Never had I been so glad that I had taken the leap towards my own freedom. And never ever had I been so grateful towards Mr Ambrose. He could have turned me away. In fact, there had probably been nothing he wanted to do more. Yet instead he had kept his word and given me a chance.


    My fingers travelled into the folds of my petticoats where the ring of keys was artfully concealed. More than that: he had given me his trust.


    And soon, hopefully, he would give me some money. I just had to hold out until then.


    Head held high, I started up the porch stairs, past my aunt, ignoring her chattering. Now that my harrowing encounter with the lieutenant was over, my exhaustion returned with renewed force. I needed to lie down, and quickly, or I would just keel over and take a nap on the floor.


    Up in my room, Ella was waiting for me with a half-anxious, half-happy expression on her face. I walked past her and let myself fall face-downward onto my mattress, not caring about the protesting squeak from my hoop skirt.


    ¡®So¡­¡¯ I heard Ella¡¯s hesitant voice from behind me, ¡®did you have a nice walk with Lieutenant Ellingham?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ I groaned into my pillow.


    There was a pause. Then:


    ¡®Um¡­ this might be a silly question¡­ but is he the young man you went to meet the other day? The one you have feelings for?¡¯


    With a gargantuan effort, I raised my head from my pillow and turned to stare at my little sister.


    ¡®You¡¯re absolutely right.¡¯


    ¡®Oh!¡¯ Ella¡¯s expression brightened.


    I let my head slump back onto the pillow. ¡®That was a silly question.¡¯


    ¡®Ah.¡¯ Her face fell again.


    ¡®Honestly, Ella! Me and that blighter? How could you possibly think I have any feelings for him whatsoever, apart from abject horror and disgust?¡¯


    ¡®He wasn¡¯t that bad,¡¯ Ella tried to console me. ¡®Although I must admit¡­ I was very frightened by the way he treated those people and that poor grey animal. What did he call it again? An elephont?¡¯


    ¡®Elephant,¡¯ I corrected.


    ¡®Exactly.¡¯ Ella shook her head sadly. ¡®I mean, did he have to stab it? He could have tried talking to it or petting it. Grandmother¡¯s chickens always let me pet them when I visit, and they¡¯re perfectly friendly if you show them some affection.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t worry,¡¯ I moaned and rolled over on my side to face her. ¡®Do not let the poor elephant¡¯s plight torture your heart. There was no fight in India, ergo there was no elephant and no stabbing in the belly.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ A frown appeared on Ella¡¯s lovely forehead. ¡®But Lieutenant Ellingham said¡­¡¯


    I gave a sigh. ¡®I will tell you a great secret, Ella, if you promise not to tell anybody.¡¯


    ¡®Oh¡­ of course!¡¯


    ¡®Not everything a man says to a woman must necessarily be true.¡¯


    I sank deeper into my pillow, snuggling into the soft down feathers. I knew it would take Ella a while to adjust to the concept of such a thing as a dishonourable or lying man - certainly enough time for me to get a nap. So I slowly drifted off into the realm of Morpheus, where I happily chased thieves over rooftops, cut onions into slices, and didn¡¯t have to worry about catastrophes such as an impending engagement to the biggest bastard of London.


    My eyes fluttered open. The first thing I saw was Ella, who was sitting beside me on the bed, staring down at her fingers in deep contemplation. When she noticed I was awake, she looked at me.


    ¡®You mean¡­ you mean the lieutenant was lying?¡¯


    I sneaked a glance at the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Two hours and twenty-six minutes. Not bad.


    ¡®Exactly. You¡¯ve figured it out. Bravo!¡¯


    ¡®But¡­ that¡¯s horrible!¡¯


    I shrugged. ¡®Well, depends how you look at it. Lying can be quite useful sometimes, you know. For instance when there¡¯s something going on in your life you don''t want anybody to know.¡¯


    Ella¡¯s cheeks turned as red as a ripe tomato. I had been thinking of my new occupation when speaking, but it was clear that her thoughts were on something very different, or rather somebody.

 Page 68

    ¡®Um¡­ I suppose so,¡¯ she managed.


    ¡®And? Tell any good lies lately?¡¯ I inquired lightly, propping myself up on my elbows to get a better look at her.


    ¡®No! I didn¡¯t. Definitely not!¡¯


    ¡®I see.¡¯ As hard as I tried, I couldn¡¯t keep the grin off my face. Ella, who seemed desperate to change the subject, blurted out:


    ¡®But what will you do? I mean, if Lieutenant Ellingham isn¡¯t the young man you¡¯ve been seeing, what will you do? If he continues to pay attention to you, Aunt Brank will expect you to marry him, you know.¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes, I know. But then, that¡¯s no surprise since Aunt Brank would expect me to marry any willing creature in trousers who walked through the door downstairs, just to get me out of the house.¡¯ I rolled my eyes.


    ¡®What will you do?¡¯ Ella repeated, anxiously. ¡®How will you reconcile yourself to having to say goodbye to your true love and marry somebody else?¡¯


    Oh right! Ella was still convinced that every time I went to work, I was going on a secret rendezvous with my mystery lover. Opening my mouth, I was about to explain to her that I didn¡¯t have and never would have a love in my life when it occurred to me that this would raise a whole lot of questions regarding my frequent absence. So I just said:


    ¡®Believe me, I¡¯m not going to marry that blighter.¡¯


    Once again, Ella seemed to have problems with grasping my thought processes. ¡®But¡­ Aunt wants you to marry him!¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®And you¡¯re not going to?¡¯


    ¡®No! You can bet your best silk parasol on that!¡¯


    ¡®But¡­ that would mean¡­ defying Aunt.¡¯


    I clapped my hands. ¡®Bravo! You didn¡¯t even need two hours to figure that one out.¡¯


    ¡®Tell me, my dear sister.¡¯ Eagerly, Ella knelt down on the bed beside me and clasped my hands. ¡®How would you do it? How would you bring yourself to walk up to her and say: ¡°No! I do not want to marry this man, for my heart belongs to another!¡±?¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ well, I would just do it.¡¯ Apart from the my-heart-belongs-to-another part.


    ¡®Oh Lilly!¡¯ Ella embraced me with all the strength and sisterly affection she was capable of. And while she didn¡¯t have much of the former, she had plenty of the latter. ¡®You¡¯re so brave. How I wish I had your courage. And you will truly rebel? Set yourself against this marriage with everything you have?¡¯


    I simply nodded and held her tightly, wishing so much that I could help her in her predicament. But unfortunately, she would have to find the strength herself.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ I said. ¡®I will not marry Lieutenant Ellingham.¡¯


    ¡®Oh Lilly!¡¯ She hugged me once more. ¡®Tell me about him, will you?¡¯


    ¡®About who? The lieutenant?¡¯


    ¡®No, not him! About your young man! The one you see on your rendezvous! The one whose love inspires you to such bravery!¡¯


    My mouth dropped open. Never in a million years had I expected that my brilliant excuse would backfire like this. What the hell could I tell her? I had absolutely no idea. I had absolutely no interest in men. What were women supposed to find attractive in men? Why would they lose their mind and fall in love with one?


    Dear Lord, I had to tell her something, but what? Who from my acquaintance could I pick as my supposed lover? The only men I¡¯d known for more than a couple of moments were my father, who was dead for years, and my Uncle Bufford, both of whom were, for obvious reasons, not good candidates. Should I pick one of the men from Sir Philip¡¯s ball? But to be honest, I couldn¡¯t remember a single one of them. Men just never seemed very important to me. They slipped my mind as soon as I left their company.


    Well, except perhaps for one. A face appeared in front of my eyes.


    ¡®Um¡­ well¡­¡¯ I began.


    ¡®Come on,¡¯ Ella urged. ¡®Don¡¯t be shy.¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ he¡¯s tall, with dark hair and dark, sea-coloured eyes, almost black.¡¯


    She clapped her hands eagerly, like an excited little girl. ¡®Oh, that sounds so dreamy and mysterious.¡¯


    ¡®You can say that again!¡¯ Too mysterious for my liking¡­ he still hadn¡¯t breathed a word about the contents of that infernal file. Could there be something government-related in it? But if anything, Mr Ambrose struck me as the type who did what he wanted without reference to any government, his own or anybody else¡¯s.


    ¡®Is he good-looking?¡¯


    ¡®W-what?¡¯ I resurfaced from my thoughts. Caught off guard, the words escaped me: ¡®Yes, he is, definitely.¡¯


    Oh God! What have I just said?


    But if I was being honest, it was true. Blast!


    ¡®He¡­ he has a chiselled face, and I mean literally chiselled: angular, and hard as stone. Maybe good-looking isn¡¯t even the best word to describe him. Beautiful would be better. A harsh beauty.¡¯


    The image of the face in front of my inner eye intensified, and an unwilling smile crept on my face.


    ¡®As for the rest of him¡­ He has a figure like an antique statue, you know? A bit like Myron¡¯s Discus Thrower[28], though he would never dream of assuming such an undignified position.¡¯ I giggled. ¡®He walks around most of the time as if he has an iron rod up his behind. He¡¯s very serious, cool and distant, and about as free with his money as Uncle Brank. He always does what he wants, and nasty things happen to people who get in his way.¡¯


    Hmm¡­ Perhaps I wasn¡¯t doing a very good a job of portraying him as the fellow I was desperately in love with. Shouldn¡¯t a lovable man have one good quality, at least? So I hurriedly added: ¡®But I think he actually may have a good heart, very, very, very deep down.¡¯


    Who knew, it might actually be true. He had taken me on, after all.


    But not as a girl, said a nasty little voice in the back of my mind. I shook my head, trying to concentrate.


    ¡®Oh Lilly!¡¯ Ella gripped both of my hands with hers. ¡®I¡¯m so happy for you! He sounds amazing, like a modern-day Mr Darcy.¡¯


    ¡®Hardly,¡¯ I muttered, smirking at the comparison. ¡®He wouldn¡¯t spend ten thousand pounds on anybody, let alone me.¡¯[29]


    Ella¡¯s smile only widened. ¡®It sounds like you¡¯re very fond of him.¡¯


    ¡®Does it?¡¯


    My eyebrows shot up. Apparently, I had done a better job than I¡¯d thought. I had completely fooled her and made her believe I was in love with Mr Ambrose. I had no idea my acting skills were this developed. It seemed that male impersonations weren¡¯t the only thing I did well in that regard.

 Page 69

    ¡®And his name?¡¯ Ella continued eagerly. ¡®Tell me, who is he?¡¯


    Oops¡­


    What to Do with Pink?


    And his name? Tell me, who is he?


    For just a moment, Ella¡¯s question hung in the air between us like a big, wet elephant on a washing line.


    ¡®Please, don''t ask,¡¯ I blurted out. ¡®I, um¡­ promised him to tell nobody. Yes, I promised!¡¯


    This was such a lousy excuse that no little sister in England would have accepted it. Other little sisters would have dug and bored and drilled until they had uncovered every last bit of the truth. But all those little sisters probably didn¡¯t have a secret lover.


    Moisture sparkled in Ella¡¯s eyes, and the words ¡®just like me and Edmund¡¯ practically blinked on her forehead for all the world to see.


    ¡®Of course.¡¯ Nodding eagerly, she enfolding me in her arms. ¡®I understand. Of course you have to keep your love¡¯s secret. I understand more than you can ever know.¡¯


    Somehow I doubted that. I knew perfectly well why she was feeling so deeply for my supposed plight, and it didn¡¯t have anything to do with her general compassionate nature but rather, I suspected, with a certain young man who would soon be waiting for her at the garden fence.


    ¡®I really hope you two will find a way to be together,¡¯ she breathed into my ear, her voice sounding tearful.


    Well I sure as hell didn¡¯t. I had to work hard to keep myself from laughing at the idea of my marrying Mr Rikkard Ambrose. It would perhaps make an interesting tragedy for the theatre, with all the participants ending up strangled within the first five minutes, but in reality? No, thank you!


    However, I didn¡¯t think that was what Ella wanted to hear.


    ¡®I¡¯m sure we will. I think he¡¯s getting really attached to me, and it¡¯s quite likely that we will spend more time together in the future.¡¯ That last part at least was true. ¡®But enough of my problems,¡¯ I continued, holding Ella away from me with both hands. ¡®Let us talk about you and the man prowling around you. What about Sir Philip?¡¯


    Ella¡¯s face paled. ¡®He was here earlier today,¡¯ she muttered.


    ¡®To visit you?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®Did he bring flowers?¡¯


    ¡®Quite a lot of them, yes.¡¯


    ¡®And what do you think of him?¡¯


    ¡®He¡­ is a very pleasant gentleman,¡¯ Ella replied, doing her best to sound enthusiastic and failing miserably.


    ¡®That is wonderful! Simply wonderful!¡¯


    I was testing my newfound acting skills. Of course I knew Ella¡¯s interests lay in another direction, but I couldn¡¯t tell her that I had overheard her and Edmund pledging their eternal, epic and everlasting love. She would vaporise from embarrassment. And I wouldn¡¯t get another chance to eavesdrop on her and her lover, which was essential both for my plans of furthering the happiness of my little sister and as my favourite evening entertainment.


    ¡®So you want to marry him, do you?¡¯ I asked with a fake, bright smile.


    What little colour had remained in Ella¡¯s cheeks vanished. ¡®Um¡­ maybe not as such.¡¯


    ¡®Why not?¡¯ I pressed. ¡®If he likes you and you like him, why wait?¡¯


    ¡®Well, we¡¯re both so young. Too young, I think, to really think of marriage.¡¯


    ¡®There are girls who get married at fifteen. That is two years younger than you.¡¯


    ¡®True, but still¡­ there¡¯s no need to rush things and¡­ and I¡­¡¯


    She was desperately groping around for another explanation. I had to say I was impressed with her. Of course her flimsy little lies wouldn¡¯t even fool a cocker spaniel with severe concussion, but I was amazed that she even made the attempt. For Ella to lie to anybody, let alone me, was an impressive achievement. She really had to like this fellow Edmund.


    The confirmation of this very theory I received not three hours later. After my nap and an oh-so-delicious meal of porridge and cold potatoes, which I consumed with more relish than usual, I took up my usual post behind the bushes in the garden and waited for the two lovebirds to arrive. Just in case, I had taken the masterpiece of my favourite author with me: Mary Astell¡¯s A Serious Proposal to the Ladies for the Advancement of their True and Greatest Interest, by a Lover of Her Sex.


    Hey, I said she¡¯s a great author. I didn¡¯t say she was great at coming up with snappy titles. Secretly, I thought that How to Squash Chauvinists would have been a much better title, since that was what this fabulous book was all about - but I never dared to voice that opinion. If I had a heroine, Mary Astell was it. She had lived over a hundred years ago and already tried to grind the oppressive patriarchy of Great Britain into dust.


    Today though, I didn¡¯t get any new tips on man-to-dust-grinding. I had just opened my battered copy of A Serious Proposal to the Ladies when the lovebirds made their appearance. One fluttered in from the direction of the neighbours¡¯ house, and it was not long after that Ella flew out of the back door and towards the fence.


    ¡®Oh Edmund!¡¯


    ¡®Oh Ella!¡¯


    They both clutched the fence in their hands. Their eyes were drawn to the other¡¯s as if by some magnetic force.


    ¡®My love,¡¯ Ella breathed, moisture in her eyes - and she didn¡¯t need any onions for it. ¡®How I have longed to see you again.¡¯


    ¡®And I you, my love. I have longed to see you again even more than you have longed to see me! Your sweet voice is to my ears as honey to my tongue.¡¯


    ¡®Impossible!¡¯


    ¡®I assure you, it is. The cadence of your speech¡­¡¯


    ¡®No, no, I don¡¯t mean the bit about the honey! I mean the bit about you longing for me more than I longed for you! I have definitely longed more for you than you for me. How could I not? You are my pillar of strength in the midst of my woe, Edmund. My sole reason to continue living.¡¯


    That was laying it on a bit thick, wasn¡¯t it? Nice walks in the park, reading, fighting for women¡¯s rights¡­ I could come up with half a dozen good reasons to continue living off the top of my head. And they most certainly were better reasons than some stupid man!


    ¡®I assure you, my dearest Ella, that I have longed for you more than you for me. That is the only way it could be. For who am I? Nobody but a simple merchant¡¯s son. You are the light of my life, queen of my heart, infinitely more important than me.¡¯

 Page 70

    You got that right mister. Satisfied, I nodded to myself. At least the fellow knew his place.


    Apparently though, Ella didn¡¯t. ¡®You are not a nobody!¡¯ she protested. ¡®And I¡¯m not more important than you!¡¯


    What the¡­ of course you are! Through a gap in the foliage, I shot a glare at my little sister. She should squash this fellow until he was her willing slave, not try to build his self-esteem! Men¡¯s heads were big enough already.


    Ella seemed to think otherwise. ¡®You are everything to me, Edmund,¡¯ she declared. ¡®Everything!¡¯


    ¡®As are you to me.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, Edmund.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, Ella, my love.¡¯


    For a few more minutes they continued their protestations of love and debate about who had missed whom more in the unimaginably long twenty-two hours or so that they had been separated. Finally though, they seemed to run out of sweet compliments and flowery similes for the passionate strength of their love.


    The first pause ensued, and then, in a voice as tense as could be, Edmund asked:


    ¡®How do things stand, my love? What of Sir Philip?¡¯


    Ella took a moment to answer. Peeking through the bushes, I saw that she was clutching the fence for support.


    ¡®He came to visit me today,¡¯ she whispered.


    Edmund¡¯s eyes slid shut, and he let himself fall against the fence. ¡®Oh fearful harbinger of doom!¡¯ he groaned.


    ¡®He brought me flowers.¡¯


    ¡®What agony!¡¯


    ¡®They were pink roses.¡¯


    ¡®This is unbearable! Please, God, strike me down with a bolt of lightning!¡¯


    I glanced up towards the night sky. It didn¡¯t look like God was in the mood to oblige Edmund. I wished he would. Then at least the moaning and groaning would stop.


    ¡®And he said I was more beautiful than any flower he had ever brought me.¡¯


    ¡®Enough! Enough!¡¯ With another groan, Edmund slid down the fence until he was on his knees in the grass. ¡®Have mercy on me!¡¯


    ¡®He also said I was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes upon,¡¯ Ella continued, blushing. ¡®I asked him how it was he had met that few girls, and he laughed.¡¯


    ¡®Please! I beg of you, stop! You are killing me! Stop!¡¯


    ¡®Dearest Edmund!¡¯ For the first time, Ella seemed to realize that he was on the ground, unable to stand. Her face filled with horror, and she raised a hand to her mouth. ¡®What are you saying? I would never dream of hurting you!¡¯


    Personally, I thought she had done a splendid job of ripping his heart into tiny little pieces, but if I cheered her on, that would probably alert them to my presence. So I kept quiet and just pulled a branch aside to see better.


    ¡®And yet you are,¡¯ Edmund moaned. ¡®You are hurting me more than anyone has ever hurt me in my life! The way you speak of Sir Philip showering you with gifts and compliments¡­ I cannot bear it!¡¯


    ¡®But my love, you wished me to tell you everything! You expressly demanded it.¡¯


    ¡®I know, I know. And yet it tortures me to hear it. Especially to hear the tone in which you speak. You sound as if his attentions are very welcome to you. Oh, I see how it is. Your new suitor brings with him a great name and honourable rank, and I shall soon be forgotten. Winning your love has only been a dream. Oh Eros,[30] why do you torture me so?¡¯


    ¡®A dream?¡¯ Not caring if her dress got dirty, Ella dropped to her knees in the muddy grass to be at eye level with Edmund. My, my, she really had to love him. I remembered very well the talking-to I had received from my aunt the last time I had gotten my dress dirty.


    ¡®Edmund, if my love for you is a dream, then the sun is a phantom and the moon an illusion. My love for you is just as indestructible and everlasting as those two giants of the sky. Yet it is by no means as distant. It is right here.¡¯


    With a tender gesture she touched herself right above her heart.


    ¡®It is?¡¯ Edmund whispered. ¡®It truly is?¡¯


    Oh, come on already! She¡¯s already told you it is, hasn''t she?


    Honestly, I was a bit frustrated with the fellow. She had told him she loved him about three dozen times now, and he still didn¡¯t seem to have gotten the message. You would have thought once would be enough. How dense could he be?


    ¡®I swear on everything that is holy,¡¯ Ella responded with fervour. ¡®I love you.¡¯


    ¡®But the way you spoke of Sir Phillip¡­¡¯


    ¡®I may have been flattered, Edmund, I do not deny it.¡¯ Shamefully, she let her eyes sink to the ground. ¡®It is the first time in my life that I have been noticed by such a great and powerful man, and the strange feeling might for a moment have gone to my head. But that is all it is, Edmund. I swear. I love you, now and forever.¡¯


    Edmund wet his lips. He opened his mouth, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse:


    ¡®But what then will you say when this great and powerful man asks you to become his wife?¡¯


    Ella rocked back on her heels. The question had hit her like a kick in the stomach.


    I, for my part, was feeling an urge to kick Edmund in the stomach.


    ¡®Edmund, I¡­¡¯ Her words trailed off into nothingness. She seemed not capable of forming a response.


    ¡®This is what it all comes down to,¡¯ Edmund persisted, his eyes burning with passion - or maybe hay fever. I wasn¡¯t exactly an expert in the different nuances of burning eyes. ¡®Last time we could wait and hope. Last time we could imagine that it was only a passing fancy on his part, hope that Wilkins would be gone soon and we would be safe. But now? I tell you, my love, my darling, he intends to marry you. Sooner or later, he will ask you. The question that remains now is: what will be your answer?¡¯


    ¡®Please, Edmund, don''t!¡¯


    ¡®Will you answer yes?¡¯


    ¡®I¡­ I¡­¡¯


    ¡®I see reluctance in your eyes. I see tears streaming down your face. It is enough. I see, you do not wish to have him. Will you do the only other thing possible, then? Will you save our love? Will you deny him?¡¯


    Burying her face in her hands, Ella gave an anguished wail. Tears spilled right and left, and she still wasn¡¯t using any onions. Really impressive. This ¡®love¡¯-thingy really had to be something if it could make people act this crazy.


    ¡®My aunt spoke of the wedding as a certain thing,¡¯ Ella whispered through her fingers. ¡®She told me how great a match it would be for me and how happy she was for me, knowing that I would be provided for, and happy, and safe for the rest of my life.¡¯

 Page 71

    Slowly, her hands fell from her face, which was stained with salty moisture.


    ¡®Tell me, Edmund, how could I disappoint her hopes? How could I be that ungrateful a child?¡¯


    Hm¡­ maybe by taking a leaf out of the book of your favourite sister?


    But I knew that this solution wouldn¡¯t appeal to Ella. She and I lived in different worlds and by different rules, with her rules being pretty ridiculous and problematic. Edmund seemed to realize the same thing at this very moment.


    ¡®Ella¡­ you don''t mean¡­ you don''t mean you¡¯re going to say yes?¡¯


    Ella didn¡¯t reply anything, just sprang to her feet.


    ¡®Goodbye, my love,¡¯ she whispered, and with another sob she ran off, back towards the house.


    Bugger!


    I pretended not to notice Ella crying herself to sleep. But I noticed. Oh yes, I noticed all right. Not even a bedtime chapter of Mary Astell could comfort me that night.


    My dreams were full of evil lords with oversized ears trying to snatch my little sister away from me and choke her under a mountain of flowers. For the umpteenth time I regretted that I, as a girl, didn¡¯t have the same rights as a man. If I had, I would have learned how to handle a weapon long ago, and then I could just go to Wilkins and challenge him to a duel.


    One bullet right between the eyes. That would do the trick!


    As things stood, though, the only thing I could do was get to work. Despite my worry for my sister and my determination to figure something out to help her, I had to admit I was also curious as to whether Simmons'' night in the cellar had yielded any results.


    Oh yes, you are. And you¡¯re even more curious whether one of these results is Simmons¡¯ ice-cold, mutilated corpse, aren¡¯t you?


    I shook my head. Mr Ambrose would never do something like that!


    Well¡­ probably.


    Before I left, I sneaked over to Ella¡¯s bedside and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks as best I could without waking her. It would do no good for my aunt to see them. Although she was probably delusional enough to imagine them to be tears of joy, I was sure Ella had rather not let them be seen. Finished with my demoisturization, I stroked my little sister¡¯s cheek one final time affectionately and then hurried down the stairs and out the back. It was time to get going, or Mr Ambrose would skin me alive!


    At Empire House, Sallow-face let me pass upstairs without comment. I couldn¡¯t suppress a tiny, triumphant smile.


    Yay! He had accepted me. I only hoped Mr Ambrose had done the same and not decided to change his mind.


    Exchanging friendly nods, I passed Mr Stone in the upper hallway and entered my office. I had hardly sat down at my desk when, with a little plink, a message plopped out of the pneumatic tube.


    Oh dear¡­ Here we go.


    Mr Linton,


    I have been waiting for you for hours. Where have you been? I do not tolerate tardiness, as I believe I have told you before.


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    What the heck¡­? Late? I could have sworn that I arrived on the dot!


    Rising from my chair along with my temper, I looked around the room - but Mr Ambrose was too stingy to even buy a clock for his secretary¡¯s office, and I still didn¡¯t have a watch. So I marched to the door and flung it open.


    ¡®Excuse me, Mr Stone, what time is it?¡¯


    A bit startled, he looked up from his papers and, being confronted with an angry fury in baggy striped trousers, hurriedly fished his watch out of his pocket. ¡®Eight o''clock exactly, Mr Linton. Um¡­ Why?¡¯


    ¡®Nothing! Thanks.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, Mr Linton, wait!¡¯ He held out a hand with a couple of envelopes. ¡®I almost forgot to give you these. The correspondence of the day.¡¯


    ¡®Thanks again.¡¯


    Grabbing the letters out of his hand, I marched back to my desk like the wrathful angel of justice, and snatched up pen and paper to scribble furiously:


    My dear and most beloved Master,


    It is exactly eight o''clock, the time I usually arrive at your palatial office, which, by the way, doesn¡¯t even have clocks in its rooms


    Yours ever


    Miss Lilly Linton


    The reply wasn¡¯t long in coming.


    Mr Linton,


    Yes, it is eight o''clock. You may remember our discussion from the day before? The discussion during which you gained the concession from me to be treated like a full employee? You are facing the consequences of that concession. Yesterday, I gave you the afternoon off to recuperate. When I give my employees time off, I expect them to put in longer hours at some later date. I was expecting you at five a.m. this morning.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Was he kidding?


    A brief image of his stony face flashed in front of my inner eye. No. Of course he wasn¡¯t. My answer was short and to the point.


    Dearest Mr Ambrose,


    How the bloody hell was I supposed to know?


    Yours Sincerely


    Miss Lilly Linton


    There! That would show him!


    I had already shoved the message into the tube when I remembered that now I had a key to his room. I could just have stood up, gone to him and told him to his stony face!


    Or could I? If I were face to face with the tyrant, I might very well use the phrase ¡®sincerely up yours¡¯ instead of ¡®yours sincerely¡¯. Probably not good for my career prospects. Also I had to admit¡­ this way of communicating was kind of fun.


    I shoved the message into the tube. His answer popped onto my desk only a minute later.


    Mr Linton,


    Mind your language. I will let your tardiness pass once, since you were not familiar with my office policy. Do not let it happen again.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    I had an idea - a rather delicious one, and I caught myself grinning as I wrote the reply.


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    So¡­ were you up in your office at five a.m. this morning, waiting for me?


    Yours truly


    Miss Lilly Linton


    The reply was as quick as it was short.


    Mr Linton,


    Yes, I was. Bring me file S37VI288. The key to the safe is under the door.


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    He had been waiting for me! For three hours!


    Whistling, I skipped off to get the safe key, imagining a grouchy Mr Ambrose at five in the morning, sitting in the office and twiddling his thumbs with stony ferocity. The image held a great deal of appeal. I found the file in record time, shoved it under the door and went back to my desk to examine his correspondence of the day.


    A few advertisement letters from some firm or other quickly landed in the bin, so did several charity requests. I very well remembered his reaction to my letting those pass the first time. Then I fished a familiar pink envelope out of the remaining pile.

 Page 72

    What? Another one of those? Yes. The sender read, in curly feminine handwriting: Samantha Genevieve Ambrose. Just like last time. And there was the same coat of arms stamped on the envelope, a lion and a rose, with the rest of the crest, as I now noticed, filled out by stormy waves.


    Whoever she was, you had to give the lady her due; she was persistent. But honestly, I wished she wouldn¡¯t be. What should I do with her letter? Mr Ambrose had given the first one back unopened. I presumed that meant he wouldn¡¯t want another. Was I supposed to throw it away? Or was he just returning the first letter unopened out of principle and would relent to whatever the lady was writing?


    Somehow I didn¡¯t think so. Mr Ambrose wasn¡¯t the relenting kind. Especially if the message came in a pink, scented envelope.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t just destroy the letter. For all I knew, he might want this one, even though he hadn¡¯t wanted the first. I hadn¡¯t forgotten the crest on his watch, exactly like the one on the letter, and was reasonably sure by now that there was some deep connection between the letter-writer and Mr Ambrose.


    But what kind of connection? Not knowing drove me insane! And it made it impossible to decide what to do with the cursed pink thing.


    Well, what are you waiting for, Lilly? The problem of not knowing what¡¯s in there can be solved easily enough!


    Hesitantly, I reached for the envelope.


    Should I? I had to admit, I was more than a little curious to read what was inside. Was it from a relative? Or¡­ maybe from his wife?


    I swallowed. Up until now I had just assumed he was single, but you never knew. Maybe he was a romantic soul and deeply in love with his wife and was just hiding it very, very, very, very, very well. Maybe¡­ maybe the letters even had something to do with the mysterious stolen file! Oh, the suspense of not knowing was killing me! Literally!


    Surely, opening the letter couldn¡¯t really be wrong if it meant saving me from death by acute Nosystic curiositis?


    I reached out for the letter opener - but my hand stopped in mid-air.


    Mr Ambrose had taken me on. He had given me a job when many others wouldn¡¯t. I was his secretary and should behave like it. A professional wouldn¡¯t pry, and I intended to be a professional. That was the whole idea behind getting a job. Agonizingly slowly, my hand drew back from the letter opener.


    Blast! A conscience can be such a nuisance, sometimes!


    But the problem of what to do with the letter still remained.


    Then I had an idea. I was a secretary, right? My job was filing things. And I still had the key to the safe.


    Quickly I got up and searched the shelves until I found an empty file box. I put the letter inside and marched to the safe. Unlocking the safe-room, I entered and stowed the file box in the remotest, darkest corner I could find, where Mr Ambrose himself would hopefully never find it. Then, satisfied with a job well done, I left, closed the safe again and returned to my desk.


    Two messages were already waiting for me.


    The first read:


    Mr Linton,


    Where are my letters? I do not pay you to dawdle.


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    The second read:


    Mr Linton,


    Perhaps I was not clear enough regarding my intolerance towards dawdling. Where are my letters?


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Quickly, I looked through the rest of the letters. They all seemed to be strictly business-related, which was sure to be a balm for the soul of Mr Ambrose. No dealing with frightening pink personal letters today!


    I scribbled a note, went over to the door, and shoved the letters under the door, together with the safe key and a note which read:


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    Forgive my unforgivable dawdling. There were a lot of letters to sort through.


    Yours always,


    Miss Lilly Linton


    It didn¡¯t take him long to send a reply through the tube.


    Mr Linton,


    Please correct your address of me to coincide with the truth. I am not ¡®dear¡¯ to anyone, least of all, I am sure, to you. Also, it is my ink you are wasting by writing unnecessary words. A bottle of ink costs 3 pence apiece. Therefore, I order you to refrain from all endearments in the future.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    I cocked my head.


    Oh, particularly grouchy this morning, are we? I wonder why¡­


    I quickly scribbled a reply.


    Dearest most honoured and beloved Mr Ambrose,


    Courtesy hasn''t killed anybody yet. By the way, has Simmons given any information?


    Your ink-wasting


    Miss Lilly Linton


    He couldn¡¯t have been very absorbed in his letters yet because his reply didn¡¯t take long.


    Mr Linton,


    Courtesy might not have killed anybody yet, but it has ruined quite a few people who didn¡¯t realize how much money it costs. Mr Simmons has not yet divulged anything. I am displeased, to say the least. We will talk about this more later. Now bring me file 28V214. And be quick about it.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    For some reason a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.


    Here we go again. Another normal day with Mr Ambrose.


    Getting up from my desk, I made my way towards the shelves in a leisurely stroll.


    I should have known better, I guess. I should have realized by now that no day with Mr Ambrose ever would turn out to be normal.


    Problems? What Problems?


    Remember how I said life with Mr Ambrose would never be normal?


    Don¡¯t get your hopes up. Nothing particularly exciting happened.


    There wasn¡¯t another theft. No two villains staged a sword-fight in the middle of my office or anything like that. Oh no. What happened was far more mundane and far nastier:


    For the very first time, Mr Ambrose did not get rid of me early. For the very first time, I ended up having to working the entire day. The entire day, do you hear me?


    Now, don¡¯t misunderstand me. I¡¯m not lazy or anything. It was simply that staying at the office the whole day meant that, for the first time, I had to deal with some basic needs that I hadn¡¯t been concerned about before. The half hour Mr Ambrose allowed us for lunch took care of one of those needs: I ran out of the building and purchased something to stuff myself with. With what money, you may ask, since I hadn¡¯t received my first pay cheque yet?


    All right, I admit it. I was a bad girl. I had pawned Uncle Bufford¡¯s walking cane. Since he hadn¡¯t gone out walking for years, I figured he wouldn¡¯t miss it. And I¡¯d get it back as soon as I had my first wages. I had promised myself that.


    So I wasn¡¯t hungry when I returned to work. Yet over the course of the afternoon, another more pressing need made itself known to me. You could stay alive for several weeks without eating anything, I¡¯d heard, but this need in the lower half of my body required more immediate release. Especially since Mr Ambrose kept me on my feet, hurrying around the room, fetching files, which didn¡¯t exactly combine well with the building pressure down there.

 Page 73

    Another message landed on my desk with a plink.


    Mr Linton,


    Bring me file 29IV229.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    I stood up - and suddenly knew that file 29IV229 would have to wait a little longer. I hurried out of the room into the hallway. Mr Stone looked up from his paperwork as I approached.


    ¡®Excuse me, Mr Stone?¡¯ I squeaked. Quickly, I cleared my throat. ¡®Excuse me?¡¯ That was better, though my voice was still slightly higher than befitted my role as a gentleman. ¡®Do you know where the bathroom is?¡¯


    ¡®Certainly, Mr Linton.¡¯ He pointed down the hall. ¡®Two floors down, then take the first door on the left.¡¯


    Ugh! Stairs. Would I survive that? I could only hope.


    ¡®Thank you!¡¯ I squeaked, and hurried off.


    Shortly afterwards, I returned, my steps a lot more measured and careful. My voice was still unnaturally high when I inquired:


    ¡®Err¡­ Mr Stone?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Mr Linton?¡¯


    ¡®Are there any other toilets in the building? Maybe some that actually have cubicles?¡¯


    He frowned. ¡®No, I don''t think so. Why?¡¯


    ¡®Never mind!¡¯


    Back in my office, I saw two messages on my desk. Just as I closed the door behind me, a third landed beside the other two.


    Mr Linton,


    I refer back to my previous message. Bring me the aforementioned file.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    And the second one:


    Mr Linton,


    I¡¯m waiting.


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    And the third one.


    Mr Linton,


    I am becoming impatient. Do not try me. Bring me file 29IV229. Now.


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    Bugger! What was I going to do? I couldn¡¯t fetch the file! I probably wouldn¡¯t get to the shelves without¡­ well, I might not be a very polite lady, but even I wouldn¡¯t mention that. Quickly, I considered the roads which were open to me. Could I get through the entire day like this? No, definitely not. That left two options:


    A) Do it in the waste paper basket


    B) Talk to Mr Ambrose


    It said a lot about the personality of my dear master that option A actually sounded like the better alternative to me. However, checking the waste paper basket I discovered that, although once made of solid cast iron, it was now so old that it had rusted through at the bottom, making it unsuitable for containing fluids of any kind. There was nothing for it. I had to gather up my courage and confront the monster in its lair.


    I knocked.


    ¡®May I come in?¡¯


    ¡®Do you have the file?¡¯ asked a voice from inside - that terse, cool voice which I already knew so well.


    ¡®No, but there¡¯s something else.¡¯


    ¡®Important?¡¯


    ¡®Yeees!¡¯


    ¡®Then come in.¡¯


    Slowly, I entered. The office hadn¡¯t altered much from the last time I¡¯d seen it. The big map had disappeared off the desk and, instead, heaps of paper were lying on it. I was a bit surprised that I recognized most of them: they were the files Mr Ambrose had told me to bring him, and he was working through them diligently. So he wasn¡¯t just ordering me around to annoy me. Good to know, if slightly unexpected.


    I stepped in front of my employer¡¯s desk and cleared my throat.


    No reaction. He didn¡¯t even look up. Instead, he picked up his fountain pen and began writing on a piece of paper.


    I cleared my throat again. And again.


    ¡®Do you have a cough, Mr Linton?¡¯ he asked without looking up. He continued writing.


    ¡®No, Sir. I have a question.¡¯


    ¡®Then put it and leave. I have work to do.¡¯


    ¡®Well, err¡­ it¡¯s a bit delicate.¡¯


    ¡®Then put it delicately and leave.¡¯


    Ordinarily, his ice-cold manner would have gotten my dander up. But at the moment, my thoughts were fully occupied by a certain pressing matter.


    ¡®Err¡­ yes, Sir. You see, I have to do some urgent¡­ business.¡¯


    He tapped the stacks of paper with his free hand. ¡®So have I.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m sure, Sir. It¡¯s just that my business is somewhat more personal than yours. I, um, need to powder my nose.¡¯


    That was the first time he looked up. With his dark, sea-coloured eyes, he stared at my face intently.


    ¡®Why? Your nose looks fine to me.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ thanks for the compliment, but¡­¡¯


    ¡®If you absolutely must,¡¯ he continued, bending his head again and continuing his writing, ¡®you can do it here. I don''t mind.¡¯


    I nearly choked.


    ¡®Err¡­ Mr Ambrose?¡¯


    ¡®Are you still here, Mr Linton?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir. I wanted to ask - have you been out in society much?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t look up again. His fountain pen flew over the paper. Blue lines of ink spread over it with graceful ease. ¡®No. I detest society. Ever since I¡¯ve returned to England I¡¯ve been far too busy with my business, anyway. Why?¡¯


    ¡®Because you seem a bit behind on social idioms. You see¡­ to ¡°powder your nose¡± is a phrase that ladies use when they want to indicate to gentlemen that they need to pee.¡¯


    There was a loud snap. When I looked, I saw that Mr Ambrose¡¯s fountain pen had snapped in half under the sudden pressure of his fingers. Ink dripped out of the half he still held.


    ¡®Then,¡¯ he said in a very measured, calm voice, ¡®please do not do it here.¡¯


    I nodded. ¡®That¡¯s what I thought.¡¯


    ¡®Why don''t you just do it somewhere else, then?¡¯ Mr Ambrose¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t quite as calm and collected as usual anymore. My, my. Was the great businessman at a loss? I had to hide my smirk.


    ¡®Well, Sir, I checked, and there¡¯s a bathroom downstairs. But it¡¯s only a pissoir, with no separate cubicles. And well, I know you think of me as a gentleman, Mr Ambrose, but I think some of the other staff members might disagree once I let my trousers down.¡¯


    ¡®I see your point.¡¯


    Still not looking up, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one of the country¡¯s richest and most powerful businessmen, pondered the question of where I might pee this afternoon. If I hadn¡¯t been so literally filled with anticipation, I might have burst out laughing. As it was, I preferred standing still.


    Finally, he said:


    ¡®You can use mine. It¡¯s in there.¡¯


    And he pointed toward a small door at the back of the office that I hadn¡¯t noticed before.

 Page 74

    ¡®Err¡­ your what, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®My toilet. Go do what you need to do, and then get back to work. I don''t pay you for standing around.¡¯


    I wasn¡¯t sure I had heard correctly. ¡®You want me to use your personal¡­¡¯


    He looked up, sharply.


    ¡®Mr Linton?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir!¡¯


    ¡®What did we talk about in the last five minutes?¡¯


    Suddenly I got the feeling that an awful lot depended on me making the right answer.


    ¡®Err¡­ business, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®Very good. What kind of business?¡¯


    ¡®For the life of me, Sir, I can¡¯t remember.¡¯


    ¡®Very good indeed. Now bring me a new fountain pen. For some reason this one doesn''t seem to be working anymore. And then get on with your business, and leave me to mine.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir! Immediately, Sir!¡¯


    I managed to bring him a new fountain pen without wetting myself, then ran to the little door, slid inside and shut it behind me. Quickly, I let my trousers drop. Thank the Lord I was wearing trousers and not a hoop skirt! I would have emptied my bladder three times over by the time I had gotten rid of that. With a sigh of relief I closed my eyes and sank down on the toilet.


    As anyone will understand, I¡¯m sure, for the next few minutes I was quite busily engaged. It was only after the pressure had appreciably decreased that I could open my eyes and look around at Mr Rikkard Ambrose¡¯s personal bathroom.


    I was in largish chamber with - naturally - bare stone walls. The only thing that could maybe be counted as decoration was a small mirror hanging on the door. Maybe. The plain, ungilded frame and small size of the mirror, however, made it appear more likely to me that it was an object of daily use, in typical Ambrosian style.


    My eyes did not rest on the mirror long. They were drawn to an object on the wall to my right. There, over a basin set into the floor, a shower head protruded from the wall.


    On seeing this, I suppose I know what my reaction should have been. It should have been some mundane thought like ¡®Of course! He¡¯s too stingy for a bath, so he had a shower installed to save water¡¯ or ¡®I wonder where he gets the water from. Surely not out of the filthy river¡¯.


    Instead, all I thought was: Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! He showers here! He showers here, in this very room where I am right now, naked! Which would mean without any clothes on. Which would mean you could see all of his¡­


    For some strange reason, I took a little bit longer than usual to conclude my business in the bathroom that day. When I left, Mr Ambrose looked sideways at me. His granite expression didn¡¯t change.


    ¡®Something wrong, Mr Linton? You look a little flushed.¡¯


    ¡®N-no, Sir. I¡¯m very well, thank you.¡¯


    ¡®Good. Then bring me file 29IV229 now.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir! Immediately, Sir!¡¯


    I worked as hard as I could throughout the day. Yet the longer I worked, the more my thoughts wandered from my work and to Ella and my own men-problem. Well, man, really, not men. I probably wouldn¡¯t be able to think straight anymore if I had more than one of those creatures hounding me. Lieutenant Ellingham was quite enough.


    How the devil am I supposed to get rid of him? I demanded of myself while puffing under the weight of a hundred heavy files.


    He didn¡¯t seem to mind that my family didn¡¯t have much money or that I didn¡¯t have ladylike manners. He only seemed to care for my family¡¯s respectable name, which would help him in his advancement in the military.


    Hm¡­ Can you get rid of a respectable family name?


    Well, short of changing my name or committing suicide, neither of which seemed a very good idea, I would have to do something so humongously stupid and dishonourable that it would disgrace my entire family.


    Then why not do that? Sounds easy enough for someone as talented as you.


    True, I had no trouble of thinking of possibilities - I could ride through the marble arch, which only the Queen was allowed to do. I could dance naked on top of the marble arch, which not even the Queen was allowed to do. I could make a handstand in Hanover Square and start singing the French national anthem. I could rob the Bank of England.


    The last idea sounds nice. Then you can quit this bloody job and go lead a life of adventure, going to see the rain forests and the Great Wall of China!


    But, alas, I was afraid that even dressed up as a man, nobody would take me seriously as a bank robber. You probably had to be six foot five for that, with a mask and a pistol.


    Plink!


    Surprised, I looked down and saw three messages lying in front of me on the desk. I had been so consumed with my own thoughts that I hadn¡¯t noticed them coming in. The first two were the usual missives from His Mightiness, reminding me to bring him file number 35X119 and hurry up about it. The third one was different.


    Mr Linton,


    Taking into account your negligence in answering my messages, I must assume that something is the matter with you. Is it the same business as earlier today, the business we are never ever going to talk about anymore?


    Rikkard Ambrose


    I couldn¡¯t suppress a grin as I answered:


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    No, that business we are never ever going to talk about again is not a problem - at least not yet. I am sorry for my negligence. I will bring the files immediately.


    Yours Sincerely


    Miss Lilly Linton


    But before I could rise, another message plopped onto my desk.


    Mr Linton,


    If it is not that problem bothering you, what is the matter?


    Rikkard Ambrose.


    My jaw dropped. Was I reading correctly? I reread the message. Then I turned it on its head and tried to read it like that, thinking I might be able to put a different construction on the words. Finally, I closed my eyes for ten seconds, yet when I opened them again, the impossible words were still there.


    My hand shaking slightly from the shock, I quickly composed an answer.


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    Careful, Sir. People might start to think you actually cared if everything goes well in my life.


    Yours Sincerely


    Lilly Linton


    The reply to that came just as quick.


    Mr Linton,


    Care? Do not be ridiculous. I simply need you to work efficiently, without distractions.


    Rikkard Ambrose


    Of course. And there was I thinking that maybe he had asked just to make me feel better. Ha! I had forgotten who I was talking- err, writing to.


    Yet regardless of his motivations, he wanted to know what was the matter. Panic began to well up inside me. How could I tell somebody I was being pursued by a man I detested? More terrible still, how could I tell that to Mr Granite-Face All-Businesslike Ambrose? The concept alone filled me with unimaginable horror! And what about Ella? I could never tell him about Ella¡¯s secret romantic rendezvous. To mention the word ''love'' in his presence would be like trying to explain bicycles to an eel.

 Page 75

    It¡¯s really nothing, I scribbled on a piece of paper. Really, really nothing. Don¡¯t concern yourself with the matter. I am sure you have more important things to do.


    Hurriedly, I shoved the message into a container and the container into the pneumatic tube - only then realizing that I had forgotten my usual teasing salutation. Well, that could only be good, right? He had complained of my teasing him all the while, after all, and right now I wouldn¡¯t want to rile him up any more.


    Twenty seconds later, a message returned.


    It consisted of two simple words.


    Tell me.


    Oops. Maybe I had been wrong. Again I took up pen and paper.


    Dear Mr Ambrose,


    As I said, it is nothing. Please do not concern yourself with my petty troubles.


    Yours Sincerely


    Miss Lilly Linton


    I shoved the message into the tube, pulled the lever and waited anxiously. When, after a minute or so, no reply had come, I dared to breathe again. He was going to let it go. So now I¡¯d just have to find those files he wanted¡­


    I was just about to get up when a noise from the room next door froze me in mid-movement: The scrape of chair legs over a stone floor. Then, quick, hard steps approached the connecting door and a key turned in the lock.


    Holy Moses! He was coming over!


    He stood in the doorway like a statue of some Greek god about to pass judgement on a poor mortal and maybe throw a thunderbolt or two.


    ¡®Tell me,¡¯ he ordered.


    ¡®I¡¯m not obliged to tell you anything about my personal life,¡¯ I mumbled, and thought: I¡¯m looking down at the floor! Why the hell am I looking down? I¡¯m a strong, independent woman! ¡®That¡¯s not part of the job description of a secretary.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s also not part of the job description of a secretary to tour the hotels of London in a dress and with a sack full of onions at the ready, but you did it anyway. Tell me. Now!¡¯


    I stayed silent.


    ¡®If you will not tell me, I¡¯ll deduct the time we spend arguing from your wages.¡¯


    I gasped. That was a low blow.


    Well¡­ maybe I could just tell him about me, personally. I couldn¡¯t tell him about Ella, of course. That wasn¡¯t my secret to share. There was only one thing left to tell. I took a deep breath.


    ¡®Well¡­¡¯


    ¡®Yes?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m being pursued by a man.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ With three long strides, Rikkard Ambrose was at my desk and had grabbed hold of my hands. Startled, my eyes flew up to look at him.


    Hey! He was supposed to be calm and immovable as granite! I wouldn¡¯t have thought him capable of an emotion such as this. True, his face still was as impassive as ever, but his eyes¡­ His dark eyes were emitting sparks of fury.


    ¡®Why didn¡¯t you tell me about this earlier?¡¯ he demanded.


    ¡®Why should I? It was none of your business!¡¯


    I tried to free my hands from his grip. It felt disturbing, having him hold my hands in his strong grasp after the episode in his personal powder room. I tried to shove that from my mind and concentrate on the moment.


    ¡®None of my business?¡¯ he repeated, coldly. ¡®A man has been chasing you through London, and it¡¯s none of my business? Tell me, is he connected with Simmons? What did he want? Did he mention the file or threaten to harm you? How far did he pursue you? Was he on foot or on horseback? How did you escape?¡¯


    It all clicked into place then: his reaction, the grip of his fingers on mine, even the cold fire in his eyes. I almost started to laugh. Almost.


    ¡®Err¡­ Mr Ambrose? When I said he¡¯s ¡°pursuing¡± me, I meant he wants to marry me.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose¡¯s grip on my hand slackened, and he blinked.


    ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s trying to get me as his wife, not chasing me through town with a knife in his hand.¡¯


    ¡®Oh.¡¯ There was a pause. ¡®Are you sure?¡¯


    ¡®Am I sure?¡¯ I glared up at him. ¡®What¡¯s that supposed to mean? Of course I¡¯m sure! Even I know the difference between a bouquet of flowers and a butcher¡¯s knife!¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ of course you do. Well, that¡¯s good to hear. That¡¯s really¡­¡¯


    I stared at his face. A muscle somewhere in his cheekbone twitched, and his eyes went from side to side as if looking for an escape. Dear me. Had I managed to get Mr Rikkard Ambrose flustered?


    Suddenly, an unpleasant thought struck me.


    ¡®How come the first thing you thought of when I said I was being ¡°pursued by a man¡± was that somebody was chasing me to get information out of me about you?¡¯


    ¡®Well, um¡­¡¯


    ¡®Do you think I¡¯m that uninteresting? Do you think I¡¯m a shrivelled old hag, that I could only attract men who want to stab me, not ones that want to marry me?¡¯ As hard as I could, I tugged at my hands to free them from his grasp - but his fingers were too strong. ¡®How dare you! Do you really think that I am that ugly?¡¯


    ¡®Of course not,¡¯ he snapped, not looking at my face, which was good, because my glare would have burned holes into him. I was so angry with him, I would have slapped him if the thought of my pay cheque hadn¡¯t stayed my hand. ¡®Of course not, Miss Linton, you¡¯re lovely.¡¯


    ¡®It is abominable that someone like you can call himself a gentleman. You should know better than¡­¡¯


    My voice trailed off.


    ¡®Wait just a moment¡­ What did you say?¡¯


    Belatedly, my ears registered his last spoken words. The ears delivered them to my brain, where they were turned around and examined carefully. Then they were submitted to an authenticity test somewhere in the dark depths of my mind.


    You¡¯re lovely¡­ Miss Linton, you¡¯re lovely¡­


    The results of the test weren¡¯t long in coming. On the whole, it was extremely unlikely that these words could have really, as I imagined, come out of the mouth of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Unlikely? Scratch that. Impossible!


    ¡®What did you say?¡¯ I repeated, my voice so weak I didn¡¯t recognize it anymore. Suddenly, having my hands in his felt completely different, and for some reason I stopped struggling to get them free. From my sitting position, I looked up at Mr Ambrose, who looked as though he had just been forced to swallow his own top hat.


    ¡®What did you say?¡¯ I repeated once more, though I remembered perfectly well. I just wanted to hear it again to make sure I hadn¡¯t gone temporarily insane. Rikkard Ambrose thought I was lovely? Nobody had ever told me I was lovely! Not even my own mother! And what kind of lovely exactly? The ''Oh-that-was-a-lovely-job-Mister-Secretary''-kind of lovely, or the other kind of lovely? The kind that involved him calling me Miss instead of Mister.

 Page 76

    ¡®I said¡­¡¯ Mr Ambrose hesitated. Then, straightening, he suddenly let go of my hands and glared at me, his cool expression recovered. ¡®I said bring me file 35X119.¡¯


    He turned on his heel and marched into his office, slamming the door behind him.


    Luckily, fetching files is not really an intellectually taxing task. If it had been, I would have had enormous difficulties completing the day¡¯s work.


    I was just about to leave my office at the end of the day when the door to Mr Ambrose¡¯s office opened, and I caught a glimpse of his dark, ramrod-straight silhouette in the doorway.


    ¡®Would you mind stepping into my office for a moment, Mr Linton?¡¯


    Oh, we are back to ¡®Mister,¡¯ are we?


    Well, I wasn¡¯t exactly sure I had heard right that time he¡¯d admitted my real gender earlier today, anyway.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ I said, curtly. ¡®I would mind.¡¯


    Ha! You see? I can be rude and cold, too; it¡¯s not just you who has that extraordinary ability!


    ¡®Nevertheless,¡¯ he persisted, his dark eyes flashing, ¡®I would like it if you came into my office for a moment.¡¯


    ¡®My work hours are over.¡¯


    ¡®Consider it overtime to make up for your tardiness today. Come in. Now!¡¯


    From the tone of his voice I knew he would brook no further argument. Sighing, I followed him into his office, where he settled down into his chair and regarded me over top of his steepled fingers.


    ¡®The man who wants to marry you¡­¡¯ he stated. ¡®You don''t like him.¡¯


    ¡®Oh boy, I wonder how you figured that out,¡¯ I sighed, rolling my eyes. ¡®Sir,¡¯ I tacked on at the end quickly, as his eyes flashed again.


    ¡®You don''t want to marry him.¡¯


    ¡®No, I don''t, Sir. And?¡¯


    ¡®And nothing.¡¯ He looked down at his papers and waved a hand. ¡®You¡¯re dismissed. I hope tomorrow you¡¯ll show a better performance than today. Good day, Mr Linton.¡¯


    Bewildered, I left the office. What had that all been about? As hard as I tried, I couldn¡¯t figure out the answer. Neither could I figure out Mr Ambrose himself. Impolite, honourable, ruthless, moral, stingy, randomly considerate - filled with all these contradicting attributes, he was the strangest man I had ever met. Hardly anything like society¡¯s idea of a perfect gentleman, who was supposed to be moderate in all things. And yet, I realized, as I entered the garden through the back door and sneaked into the shed, although he might be the strangest man I had ever met, he was by far not the worst one.


    Working for him was certainly not going to be boring. My thoughts strayed to Simmons, locked up in the cellar. Oh no, not boring at all.


    Armed with my little clutch purse and parasol, which these days felt more like a disguise than Uncle Bufford¡¯s top hat, I approached the house. To my surprise, my aunt was waiting in the hall, her bony cheeks flushed with excitement.


    ¡®Guess who¡¯s just arrived,¡¯ she whispered so audibly that you could probably hear it three streets away.


    Oh no. Not another visit from Lieutenant Ellingham. Please, God! Please let me have at least until tomorrow to recover!


    ¡®Sir Philip!¡¯ She exclaimed, ecstatic with joy, and I had to congratulate God on his ingenuity in giving me what I wanted and still managing to fill the rest of my day with privations to try the soul. ¡®He and Ella are in the drawing room[31] right now! I¡¯ve already sent all the others up to their rooms, of course! The two lovebirds must under no circumstances be disturbed.¡¯


    ¡®Certainly,¡¯ I said mechanically. ¡®That would be disastrous. After all, it might delay his marriage proposal for another two days or so.¡¯


    ¡®Exactly! That¡¯s exactly my point! So you wouldn¡¯t mind going up to your room now, too, and leaving them undisturbed? For your little sister¡¯s sake?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯d do anything for my sister,¡¯ I replied, completely truthfully.


    ¡®Good! I have to go now to prepare some snacks in case he stays longer. Be off with you!¡¯


    And she hurried into the kitchen.


    I sighed. Well, at least I hadn¡¯t been obliged to lie to my aunt again. I would do anything for Ella. Including what I was about to do.


    Twirling my parasol like a master swordsman swinging his weapon before a battle, I marched up to the drawing room door and thrust it open.


    En Garde,[32] Sir Philip!


    Ambrosian Waste Disposal Squad


    ¡®Ah, Sir Philip!¡¯


    Both of them looked around as they heard the voice of the unexpected intruder - sweet little me. When Ella realized who it was, I saw startled relief on her face. When Wilkins realized who it was, I saw startled startledness on his face. I marched over to the thin young man with the big ears and more or less shoved my hand into his face, so he was obliged to press a kiss on it.


    ¡®Oh, err¡­ Miss Linton?¡¯


    I nodded graciously, and then let him have it.


    ¡®Sir Philip, I¡¯m so delighted to meet you again! I can¡¯t say how happy I am to be able to thank you in person for that wonderful ball you gave the other night! The ballroom looked so beautiful, all those exotic potted plants, and the little table with the exquisite snacks! There was even solid chocolate! Did I tell you that I only had solid chocolate once before? It is one of my favourite things! As I was saying, it was simply wonderful - and I mean the ball, not the chocolate, although that was pretty nice too. Such wonderful decorations, and delightful music, and such incredibly mindless baboons for guests, and the chandeliers glittered so pretty, I thought I might faint!¡¯


    Sir Philip stared at me nonplussed. He was probably still trying to figure out how to fit the ''mindless baboons'' into the long line of compliments. I wasn¡¯t going to give him enough time for that, though.


    ¡®And the music - It was simply so enchanting! But I already said that, didn¡¯t I? Dear me, my memory sometimes isn¡¯t the best one. You know, Sir Philip, I was particularly impressed with the architecture of your beautiful house. I have always had a passion for architecture,¡¯ I lied smoothly. ¡®Can you tell me who was responsible for such a monument to the modern science of building?¡¯


    ¡®I believe a man called Bartley did the main design, Miss¡­¡¯


    ¡®How wonderful! How interesting. How old is he? Has he designed any other buildings? Where does he live? Does he have any children? Did he design his own home? How long did it take him to build yours? It is so large and majestic, it must have taken him at least five years. I was so impressed by it.¡¯

 Page 77

    ¡®I¡­ can see that.¡¯


    Looking at me strangely, Sir Philip edged away from the window where he had been standing, towards the only empty seat beside Ella on the sofa. Maybe he was thinking about protecting her from her seemingly deranged sister. Maybe he was thinking she could protect him. But I wasn¡¯t having any of that! Quickly, I slid into the seat beside Ella before he could, and smiled up at him.


    ¡®You must tell me all about him. Please, I have a ravenous desire for knowledge. Please oblige me.¡¯


    A peer of the British Empire couldn¡¯t just ignore a plea from a lady, could he?


    Approximately three hours later, I, Ella and Sir Philip left the drawing room, the latter with a slightly dazed look on his face. My aunt was just coming down from my uncle¡¯s room, looking disgruntled. In all probability, she had just been refused money to buy sweetmeats for Sir Philip, after having discovered that we had no ingredients for proper snacks in the house.


    Her face lit up instantly when she saw caught sight of the three of us standing in the hallway.


    ¡®Oh, my dear Sir Philip,¡¯ she trilled. ¡®Are you leaving already? I¡¯m so sorry for that. I was just getting something ready¡­¡¯


    ¡®Do not make the effort, Madam, I beg of you,¡¯ he cut her off - and he actually sounded as if he were begging. ¡®As you have noted, I am just about to leave. It has been a charming evening. Thank you so much for your hospitality. And thank you, Miss Ella, for your time.¡¯


    ¡®It was my pleasure,¡¯ mumbled Ella.


    ¡®And, um¡­ thank you, Miss Lillian, for that¡­ um¡­ very interesting talk.¡¯


    ¡®It was my pleasure,¡¯ I said with a smile. So what if it was slightly sadistic?


    While Wilkins hurried away to snatch his hat and overcoat off the hanger, my aunt sidled up to me. ¡®And? Were you near enough to the door to hear something?¡¯ she asked in a low voice, not aware that I had been in the room the entire time. ¡®What was the topic of conversation?¡¯


    ¡®Height, beauty and proportions, mainly, I think,¡¯ I said.


    My aunt¡¯s eyes flicked to Ella, going up and down her figure proudly. ¡®Oh! That is good, very good indeed! And what feature did he find particularly appealing? Her eyes? Her form?¡¯


    ¡®I think the chandeliers and windows were what he found most beautiful.¡¯


    ¡®Chandeliers? Lilly, what are you talking¡­?¡¯


    Quickly, she cut off as Sir Philip returned to us and performed another bow.


    ¡®I take my leave of you, Madam. But I hope soon to return for a t¨ºte-¨¤-t¨ºte with your beautiful niece.¡¯


    That remark wiped all annoyance from my aunt¡¯s face and plastered it on mine instead. Darn it! I would have thought my three-hour intensive treatment might be enough to put him off. Apparently not. It wouldn¡¯t be enough for Ella to have annoying relatives to chase him away. He would have to discover that she herself was deficient in some major way¡­


    Doubtfully, I glanced at Ella¡¯s beautiful face and demure demeanour. That was going to take some work.


    When the door had closed behind him, my aunt clapped her hands, my comment about chandeliers long forgotten.


    ¡®Girls!¡¯ She exclaimed. ¡®We have him! Ella, this man will be your husband as sure as grass is green and the sky is blue!¡¯


    Ella paled and grasped the wall to support herself. My aunt noticed neither.


    ¡®When it rains, the sky is grey,¡¯ I pointed out. ¡®And when it¡¯s hot in the summer, grass can grow brown.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, don''t be a stick-in-the-mud, Lilly! The two of them will get their happy end, I¡¯m sure of it! Just as will you and Lieutenant Ellingham. Did I tell you that he¡¯s going to come around for a visit, too?¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ I turned to face her, horror written all over my face.


    Of course, my aunt didn¡¯t take the trouble to read it. Or maybe she was an emotional illiterate.


    ¡®Yes, yes. Isn¡¯t it exciting?¡¯ She threw her arms up into the air. ¡®My two favourite nieces, married in one go!¡¯


    I started to object to this, wanting to point out that firstly, I wasn¡¯t married yet, not even engaged, and secondly, I had never been her favourite niece, but she rushed off before I could say anything, probably to make some preparations for the arrival of Lieutenant Ellingham.


    I didn¡¯t know what she did.


    I didn¡¯t really care.


    But I soon found out that she needn''t have bothered.


    The lieutenant didn¡¯t arrive. We waited for an hour. Still he didn¡¯t arrive. We waited for another hour. Still there was no sign of him. At Aunt Brank¡¯s supreme command, I sat at the drawing room window, forced to look out for him. Only once did I actually see a flicker of movement out on the dark street - but when I looked, it wasn¡¯t the lieutenant, but a rather large gentleman in a turban, stooping over something on the ground. Funny¡­ from this distance he looked almost a bit like Karim.


    The lieutenant, however, never came. I would have been ready to leave for a long time, but my aunt insisted Ella and I stay in the drawing room to greet our guest. After three hours, even she finally gave up hope and marched out of the room, muttering things under her breath that were definitely not ladylike.


    Ella looked after her uncertainly, then peeked back at me.


    ¡®What do you think could have prevented him from coming?¡¯ She whispered as if he was in the room with us and could hear her if she spoke too loud.


    ¡®I don''t know,¡¯ I said, the beginnings of a disbelieving grin on my face. ¡®God¡¯s mercy? A miracle? A nice, bloody train accident?¡¯


    ¡®Lilly! You shouldn¡¯t say such things!¡¯


    I grinned at her.


    ¡®Why? What¡¯s wrong with God¡¯s mercy?¡¯


    ¡®You know what I mean. Stop teasing me.¡¯


    ¡®Why, when it¡¯s such tremendous fun?¡¯ I sprang up from my seat and did a little twirl around the room, more graceful than I had ever done in a ballroom. ¡®Can it be that I am free? What joy is this, what wondrous joy?¡¯


    Ella let out a little laugh.


    ¡®Dear me, Lill, I had no idea you were so poetic.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not. Not when I¡¯m sane, at least. But tonight I feel a mad happiness coming over me! Is this just a dream, or is he really not here?¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s one hundred per cent real.¡¯


    ¡®Really? You promise?¡¯

 Page 78

    ¡®I do, Lill, I do.¡¯


    Quickly, I went to her and knelt in front of her, grasping her delicate hands. ¡®Do you think he¡¯s gone for good? Do you think it¡¯s possible I might be free of him?¡¯


    She shrugged, still laughing. ¡®How should I know?¡¯


    ¡®Or maybe he¡¯s just been detained somewhere this once,¡¯ I fretted. ¡®Maybe he¡¯ll show up here tomorrow morning, just as obnoxious as ever!¡¯


    ¡®Maybe,¡¯ Ella admitted.


    ¡®You¡¯re not helping! You¡¯re supposed to soothe and encourage me! You¡¯re my sister, after all!¡¯


    ¡®Or maybe not,¡¯ she hurriedly added. ¡®He¡¯s in the army, after all. Maybe he¡¯s been stationed in some colony. Gibraltar, maybe.¡¯


    ¡®Gibraltar? Why so near? Why not the Caribbean? Or better yet, India! Somewhere in the jungle where he can get eaten by tigers!¡¯


    We started to giggle like little girls. We couldn¡¯t help it.


    ¡®I don''t know what has happened,¡¯ Ella said finally, when we had control of ourselves again. ¡®But although I definitely wish him no harm, I wish he¡¯s out of your life forever.¡¯ She encircled me in her slender arms and hugged me. ¡®Then you can maybe find true love and happiness.¡¯


    ¡®Love? Me?¡¯


    ¡®Of course! With that young man of yours you told me of.¡¯


    ¡®Oh¡­ yes! Of course, with him! I had nearly forgotten how much I am in love, sorry.¡¯


    That night, I went to bed exhausted with happiness, still wondering what could possibly have happened to Lieutenant Ellingham. To some extent, I was also afraid. Was it unreasonable to hope he was gone for good? Would he return and try to catch me in the eternal trap of matrimony? And finally, the most intriguing question: Why had he vanished at all? Was it an accident? A miracle? Or had someone done this? What, or who, could have that much power?


    After a while I stopped my useless wondering and, as my mind drifted closer to sleep, the worries over Lieutenant Ellingham fell away, and unconscious thoughts drifted to the forefront of my mind. Thoughts of another man who had been there all along, hidden beneath the surface.


    You are lovely.


    He had said that, hadn¡¯t he? It hadn¡¯t just been my imagination?


    My eyes fell closed, and I began to dream of showers. I had no idea bathroom appliances could be that interesting.


    Neither the next morning nor the next few days after that did Lieutenant Ellingham put in an appearance. He did not write, he did not send a message through a friend, he did nothing. It was as though he had vanished from the face of the earth.


    Lucky earth! In my opinion, her face was a lot prettier now.


    I was still worrying about what exactly had happened to him, and especially if it was something from which he would return alive and in one piece. But with time, my worry eased. You can¡¯t worry too much about problems that apparently have disappeared by themselves when you have ones to deal with that are still very much present. And I had one of those every single day of the week from eight o¡¯clock onwards.


    If I had thought Mr Ambrose had been demanding and short with me before, he was reaching new heights now. He was pressuring me so hard, I was almost surprised I wasn¡¯t squashed and turned into Lilly-puree. From having me bring him single files, he went to have me bring him entire boxes, and let me tell you, those are heavy!


    Did he have any helpful suggestions? Oh yes.


    Mr Linton, start working on your musculature so you can carry several boxes at once. That would be far less time-consuming.


    Mr Linton, walk faster.


    Mr Linton, learn to open doors more quickly.


    Mr Linton, I¡¯m not paying you for tardiness! Get a move on!


    I was absolutely sure now that me hearing him call me ¡®lovely¡¯ had been my imagination. Maybe he had said ¡®puffy¡¯. That seemed a far more likely explanation.


    As time went by, I noticed that all the files I carried into his office dated from the same year as the one that had been hidden in his safe. Slowly I realized: He was reading up on something. Preparing. Had Simmons spilled the beans yet, or the potatoes or artichokes, whatever secret vegetables he was hiding from Mr Ambrose?


    Finally, I resolved to ask him about it. In person. This was actually possible now. The file boxes being too thick to be shoved under a closed door, the connecting door between his and my office was open all the time now.


    I knocked.


    ¡®Yes. What do you want?¡¯


    The customary friendly greeting. Oh, what a joy it was to have a kind and warm-hearted employer.


    I entered.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose, I was just wondering¡­¡¯


    He listened to my question and took his watch out as he did so. When I was finished, he stated:


    ¡®You have just wasted thirty-one seconds of my valuable time with unnecessary speech, Mr Linton. Simmons has divulged nothing yet. Now bring me the file box I asked for.¡¯


    ¡®But what¡¯s the sense in keeping to question Simmons?¡¯ I persisted. ¡®It¡¯s been days since the theft. Whoever has it must long have made use of the information it contained.¡¯


    Which you still haven¡¯t deigned to share with me¡­


    Mr Ambrose¡¯s dark eyes flashed menacingly.


    ¡®Do you think I am a half-wit, Mr Linton? I¡¯m sure they would have made use of it, if they could. However, the information is heavily encrypted. We have some time left yet.¡¯


    ¡®Encrypted? You mean¡­ you invented your own secret language?¡¯


    ¡®It is normally referred to as a ¡°code¡± by specialists of cryptology, but yes, a secret language, if you wish to put it that way.¡¯


    I looked down on the files at the desk. ¡®Do you do this for all your papers?¡¯ I asked, knowing the answer.


    ¡®No. The file was a¡­ special case. Now get me the file box I want!¡¯


    ¡®Mr Ambrose?¡¯


    It shouldn¡¯t be possible for a man to narrow his eyes while not moving one muscle in his face, but somehow Mr Ambrose managed it. ¡®I notice you¡¯re still here, Mr Linton.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®I told you to go.¡¯


    ¡®I know, Sir. I stayed anyway.¡¯ Swallowing, I tried to gather my courage. ¡®What is in the stolen file? What have they taken from you?¡¯


    His eyes flashed again. They looked more like the sea than ever. But if before they had been stormy, now there was a thunderstorm in progress. ¡®I already told you that you will never know. I do not appreciate my time being wasted with unnecessary questions.¡¯

 Page 79

    ¡®Why won¡¯t you tell me?¡¯


    ¡®It may surprise you to hear this, Mr Linton, but as your employer, I am in charge, and you have to do what I say. So if I do not wish to tell you something, I am perfectly well within my rights. Your incessant questions are wasting valuable time.¡¯


    I gave him my most charming smile. ¡®Then why not just tell me anyway? It would mean I¡¯d never have to waste your time again.¡¯


    There were a few moments of silence. Nobody could be silent like Mr Ambrose. His silence invaded your ears and pressed on your mind, making you wish for a single word to relieve you of the freezing, cold emptiness.


    ¡®Because,¡¯ he finally said, his voice lower than usual, ¡®your life has been put in danger enough already.¡¯


    My breath hitched. What did he mean? He couldn¡¯t mean what I thought he meant, could he? He couldn¡¯t mean that to get that piece of paper, somebody might try to kill me?


    And the more important question: Why the heck would he care if they did?


    ¡®And,¡¯ he added in a more usual, cool tone of voice, ¡®because my last secretary sold this secret to my enemies. Something I wish not to happen again. I have plenty of enemies left.¡¯


    Indignation rose up in me. ¡®Do you honestly dare to suggest that I might betray you like that?¡¯


    He pondered the question for a moment.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ he finally decided, nodding dispassionately. ¡®Everyone has his price.¡¯


    ¡®I would never betray you,¡¯ I said with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. He looked at me intently for a moment - then quickly looked down at the papers on his desk.


    ¡®Bring me the file box I asked for, Mr Linton.¡¯


    I didn¡¯t move. ¡®When Simmons gives up his information-¡¯ I began.


    ¡®I will inform you,¡¯ he cut me off. ¡®Go get the file box, Mr Linton. Now!¡¯


    Ouch. What crawled up his derri¨¨re and died?


    I quickly cut off that line of thinking because it made me think about his derri¨¨re, and that wasn¡¯t a place I wanted my thoughts to go after the disturbing dreams I¡¯d had last night.


    Liar, a little voice in the back of my brain cackled.


    I¡¯m not lying! I assured myself. I have no interest in Mr Ambrose¡¯s derri¨¨re. None whatsoever!


    Quickly, I hurried off to fetch the aforementioned box. And then the next. And the next. And for the entire rest of the day, I managed to keep my thoughts off Mr Ambrose¡¯s rather nice-looking behind. Yes, I did.


    And how were things at home? Well, my aunt was pretty miffed about Lieutenant Ellingham¡¯s disappearance but was consoled by Sir Philip¡¯s frequent evening visits. They became so frequent, in fact, that Ella missed several rendezvous with Edmund and became increasingly agitated. She didn¡¯t even notice my frequent absence from the house while I was at work.


    My friends did, of course. Since our last day out in the park, a considerable time had passed, and they were wondering how it could be that I had so little time on my hands these days - until Ella let slip that I had a secret lover. Then they laughed themselves silly.


    Thanks so much, my dear little sister! Where is the nearest butcher knife for sibling-dismemberment?


    ¡®Mr Linton!¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir,¡¯ I panted. ¡®The files are coming.¡¯ I burst through the door and let the boxes of files drop onto his desk.


    ¡®Almost acceptable pace, Mr Linton,¡¯ he said, sounding quite close to not disapproving and frozen. ¡®Almost.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you so much for the compliment, Sir,¡¯ I huffed, clutching my sides with a grimace.


    ¡®Bring me that file from over there, will you?¡¯


    Luckily, the ¡®file from over there¡¯ was not a gargantuan monster with enough weight to break my back, but a rather slim file in a black folder. It wasn¡¯t numbered like the other files, but said in bold white lettering: L.E. from L.L. Waste Disposal.


    I walked over to get it and hand it to Mr Ambrose.


    ¡®You seem no longer as distracted as the other day,¡¯ came his voice from behind me.


    ¡®Well, I have less dead weight to carry around,¡¯ I answered, distractedly. I was still focused on the black file. Waste disposal? I didn¡¯t know that belonged to the businesses Mr Ambrose was conducting. Strange. By now, I thought I had seen something of everything he did. ¡®Do you remember the man I told you off the other day? The one who wanted to marry me. He¡¯s gone. Poof. Vanished into thin air.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed.¡¯


    Seizing the file, Mr Ambrose flipped it open and placed a big, black-ink check mark at the very bottom. For a moment I thought I saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes, but surely I was mistaken. After all, what could be so satisfying about getting rid of garbage?


    ¡®Well, I hope your performance won¡¯t be affected like this again.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir. Um¡­ if you don¡¯t mind me asking, Sir..?¡¯ Taking back the file, I waved it in the air. ¡®Are you expanding your business, Sir? I didn¡¯t think you were in waste disposal. Are you branching out?¡¯


    ¡®No. This was a special case I had to take care of. Definitely a non-recurring venture.¡¯ He fixed me with his dark eyes and sent a glare at me that was as cold and threatening as an army of banshees and hydras at the North Pole. ¡®At least I hope so for your sake, Mr Linton.¡¯


    For my sake? What the dickens was that supposed to mean? What did I have to do with his waste disposal? Wait a moment¡­ The initials on the file¡­!


    Before I could let myself think too deeply about those initials, my thoughts were rudely interrupted.


    Thump! Thump! THUMP! THUMP!


    Heavy footsteps of a man running came up the hallway and intruded into the office. We both stared at the door, distracted. A moment later it flew open and Karim stood in the doorway, panting.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose, Sahib!¡¯ he exclaimed, the accent in his deep voice more distinct than usual from his excitement. ¡®I have done it! He is ready to confess! Ready to confess it all!¡¯


    ¡®Simmons?¡¯ One second Mr Ambrose sat behind his desk, the next he was on his feet, erect, ready to move. This time there was no mistaking it: there was triumph in his eyes.


    ¡®Let¡¯s go,¡¯ he ordered and was already out the door. Karim turned and followed, wanting to close the door to the office behind him. I put my foot in between just fast enough.


    ¡®Excuse me. You seem to have forgotten me,¡¯ I said, sweetly.

 Page 80

    The bearded mountain grumbled something in some foreign language - probably ¡®I wish I could!¡¯ in Urdu or Punjabi or some other Indian language. Then he marched after Mr Ambrose, who was already charging down the stairs. We could hear the harsh staccato of his shoes on the stone steps.


    ¡®Wait up!¡¯


    Mr Stone looked up, surprised, as he saw Karim stomp past him. Then his surprise doubled when I flitted by, even faster than the large Indian. I got to the staircase just before Karim did and flashed him a charming smile. If his face hadn¡¯t already been so dark, it would have turned red like a tomato. This was just oojah-cum-spiff! Finally some excitement!


    If only that bloody man would stop!


    ¡®Mr Ambrose! Wait!¡¯


    I ran down the stairs after him and, behind me, heard the Mohammedan muttering again. I caught the word ifrit mixed in with several expressions that, in spite of the foreign language, didn¡¯t sound very complimentary.


    Oh well. I suppose there are worse things than being seen as a 12-foot-tall demon with fiery wings.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose, Sir! Wait, please!¡¯


    Did he wait? Did he slow? Well, let me put it this way: Are lions vegetarians? Probably not.


    It took me forever to catch up with the basted man! He wasn¡¯t running, but he seemed to have the ability to march with military speed, even down a staircase. I just caught sight of him as he stepped off the last landing and into the great hall, which was buzzing with people.


    I certainly hadn¡¯t expected what happened next.


    The effect of his arrival was earth-shattering. Everybody stopped dead and turned, standing stiff and straighter. No, they didn¡¯t just stand straighter, they stood at attention, their eyes wide.


    ¡®Holy Moly,¡¯ I whispered, gazing at the silent crowd.


    Mr Ambrose stood at the edge of the hall. He stood on the same level with everyone else. Still, with their stares fixed on him like that, he seemed to tower over everybody like some Greek god on Mount Olympus who wasn¡¯t above hurling a few lightning bolts at people who didn¡¯t worship fast enough.


    His dark eyes met those of Sallow-face, whose face actually lost some yellowness, turning white at the eye contact. He gave a tiny, curt bow, and bent over his books again, back to work. He wasn¡¯t the only one. That flicker of dark eyes had been enough: suddenly, everybody was moving again, only now they moved at double speed.


    And Mr Ambrose started forward again.


    Blimey¡­!


    I could almost feel it radiating out from him: the power, like a spider¡¯s web, that joined him to every person in this building, the ends of the web connected to his employees¡¯ brains, right to the part that was responsible for fear and obedience.


    Maybe, that annoying little voice inside me said, just maybe, in comparison, he hasn''t worked you that hard after all.


    Mr Ambrose headed straight across the hallway. He didn¡¯t need to navigate through the masses of people: wherever he stepped, people made way for him. Not like they would for a king, forming a guard of honour or something, no. They were far too busy showing him how busy they were, working for him, making more money, to stand around doing nothing. But they never got in his way as he headed for a metal door at the other side of the huge room, marching along a line as straight as a ruler.


    Taking a large ring of keys out of his pocket, he opened the door, stepped inside the corridor beyond and was just about to let the door fall shut behind him when I woke up from my daze. Bloody hell! I was supposed to go with him!


    ¡®Wait up!¡¯


    He was so intent on getting to his victim and starting to squeeze information out of him that he seemed to have forgotten all about me, and Karim, too, for that matter. But when I called, he looked up to see me dashing across the hallway. I was beside him in seconds, and after a moment¡¯s hesitation, he held the door open for me.


    ¡®I thought¡­ it¡¯s only¡­ ladies who go first,¡¯ I panted, not able to conceal my grin. ¡®Since when have you started acknowledging my femininity?¡¯


    ¡®Since I want to have the door locked behind us and am the only one with the key,¡¯ he shot back. I heard Karim come up behind me, huffing, puffing, and grumbling things in Punjabi. ¡®Now shut up and get a move on!¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir!¡¯ I smirked and stepped into the corridor beyond. After a few steps I stopped, for a very good reason:


    The corridor had no windows and no lamps. Before me lay complete and utter darkness. Well, almost complete and utter. Through the open door a few rays of sunlight shone into the corridor, but they only reached a few yards, then failed. All I could see were these few yards of cold stone floor.


    ¡®Err¡­ Mr Ambrose, Sir¡­?¡¯


    I heard Karim step into the corridor behind me, and the door slammed shut, bringing us from almost complete and utter darkness to utter complete and utter darkness.


    ¡®Well, that¡¯s just spiffing,¡¯ I commented, turning my head from left to right, which made absolutely no difference to the blackness I saw. ¡®Now it¡¯s even easier for us to walk into walls!¡¯


    ¡®This corridor leads underground,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said. ¡®That makes it hard to have windows. And why should I expend money on wall lamps¡­?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, why? I mean, the human skull can take a few concussions, no problem.¡¯


    ¡®¡­why should I spend money on wall lamps, when it is perfectly possible to carry one single lamp and save a lot of money for oil?¡¯


    A spark flared in the darkness. It caught on something and, a moment later, a yellowish light grew a few feet away from me, at about my shoulder level. It fell on Mr Ambrose¡¯s classic features, and he jerked his head to the left, down the corridor.


    ¡®Come. Let¡¯s go.¡¯


    Holding the lamp over his head, he marched ahead of us. The little light was just bright enough to shine a few feet ahead. Luckily the stone floor was as even as a ruler, or I would have stumbled and broken my foot a dozen times. Probably he¡¯d polished it himself with sandpaper, to save the builder¡¯s bill. Or he¡¯d just willed it to be smooth by staring at it long enough. I wouldn¡¯t put it past him.


    The corridor started to slope downwards into the earth, towards the cellars under Empire House. We went around several curves, and the angle downwards remained the same, yet we never came across any stairs.


    ¡®Why is there no staircase?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®Sometimes, the things we have to carry down this corridor can¡¯t walk on their own,¡¯ Mr Ambrose shot back without slowing his pace or turning his head.

 Page 81

    Can¡¯t walk on their own¡­? Blimey! What was he talking about? Bodies? Dead bodies? Anxiety washed through me once again as I thought of his threats to me, and of all the things that could happen to Simmons. Maybe I should go to the police after all¡­


    ¡®Cargo and papers, Mr Linton,¡¯ Mr Ambrose added as if he¡¯d read my mind. ¡®You have an over-active imagination.¡¯


    And you have threatened to kill me and have a man locked up in your basement, which should be the job of the police with whom the Queen of England is so kindly providing us! That doesn¡¯t exactly inspire confidence!


    But I didn¡¯t say that out loud. I definitely did not want to end up in the room next to Simmons''.


    Finally we reached the end of the corridor. Under a massive brick archway, that indeed would be large enough to admit large crates of cargo, we stepped into a room I recognized: it was the room just in front of Simmons'' cell. At the opposite end of the room was the solid steel door behind which Simmons was held. To my left there was another door. I recognized it as the one through which we had entered the basement last time, by the back entrance.


    Karim strode determinedly towards the door, but Mr Ambrose touched him lightly on the arm, and the huge Indian stopped in his tracks.


    ¡®Before we go in - Tell me, how did you finally crack him?¡¯


    Karim shrugged. ¡®I am sorry, Sahib, that it took me so long. It was my failure. I failed to take into account the character of the English.¡¯


    ¡®In what way?¡¯ I asked, interested. After all, I was English. I had no idea that I shared a character trait with other English people. So far, I hadn¡¯t found a lot of common ground.


    The bearded mountain threw me a glare and shut his mouth. Apparently, he wasn¡¯t ready to answer any questions that came from me.


    ¡®In what way?¡¯ Mr Ambrose repeated my question, so now he had no choice but to answer.


    Karim cleared his throat. It sounded like a volcanic explosion. A very embarrassed volcanic explosion.


    ¡®Well, Sahib, I threatened him with the usual European, Arabian, Indian, and even Chinese torture methods. Nothing seemed to terrify him. But that was the wrong approach. As I said, I failed to take into account the character of the English. Then it finally came to me. I¡­¡¯


    He cleared his throat again - and then the sneaky son of a bachelor bent down and whispered something in Mr Ambrose¡¯s ear! And Mr Ambrose, Mr Immovable Stone-Face Ambrose, actually lifted an eyebrow.


    ¡®Is that so? And did it work?¡¯


    ¡®Did what work?¡¯ I demanded.


    ¡®Oh yes,¡¯ Karim said with grim relish, ignoring me completely. ¡®He is talking like a trader in the bazaar. Only he does not wish to sell, but give it all for free.¡¯


    ¡®What did you do?¡¯ I demanded. ¡®Karim, what did you do to the poor man?¡¯


    This time, they both ignored me.


    ¡®Very well then.¡¯ Taking the keys from his pocket once more, Mr Ambrose unlocked and unbolted the door. ¡®Let us see who is behind this infernal intrigue!¡¯


    He thrust open the door and stepped forward, into the dark.


    The Adversary


    I followed Mr Ambrose into the dungeon, and even by the dim light of the oil lamp I spotted Simmons immediately. He was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, his arms tied to the backrest, and over his head¡­


    I blinked, not sure I was seeing correctly in the gloom. Finally, I leaned over to Karim.


    ¡®Why does he have a bucket of water with a hole in the bottom hanging over his head?¡¯ I asked him out of the corner of my mouth.


    ¡®I do not hear your voice, Ifrit! Allah is my strength and will protect me from thee!¡¯


    ¡®Oh. Thanks for the helpful information.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose approached the thin, blonde man in the chair, whose back stiffened at the sudden sound of footsteps. He hadn¡¯t seen us until then, with his head sunk on his chest and his eyes closed, but when Mr Ambrose stepped closer, he raised his head to face his former master.


    ¡®Mr Ambrose, Sir.¡¯


    Simmons'' voice was rough. It sounded like he hadn¡¯t used it for conversation in days.


    Drip.


    A drop of water fell out of the hole in the bucket and landed on Simmons'' forehead. He shook himself.


    ¡®Could you¡­¡¯ His voice dwindled, and he coughed. ¡®Could you please tell your servant to get rid of that bucket? It is quite annoying, having water drip onto you all the time.¡¯


    He didn¡¯t seem afraid any more. I wondered why. When we had caught him, he¡¯d been terrified. Then I abruptly realized why. What was the sense of being afraid? The worst was already behind him. He had been broken and made to confess.


    ¡®Please¡­¡¯ Simmons rasped. ¡®Please, get rid of the bucket.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose considered in silence for a moment - then he made a hand gesture to Karim. The Indian stepped forward and, with a speed that made me yelp in surprise, whipped his scimitar[33] out of its sheath, severing the rope that held the bucket. It fell, sloshing water in every direction, and with a resounding thump bounced off Simmons'' head, drenching him in cold water.


    Simmons'' face contorted in a grimace. ¡®That¡¯s not exactly what I meant.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s down, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ Karim growled. ¡®Now start talking, or I¡¯ll start doing things with this you¡¯ll like even less.¡¯ He held the point of his scimitar to Simmons¡¯s throat. ¡®Talk!¡¯


    ¡®I believe Karim has voiced my expectations very succinctly,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said, crouching down so that his dark, sea-green eyes were on a level with Simmons¡¯. ¡®Talk.¡¯


    ¡®What do you want me to say?¡¯ Simmons asked in a voice that sounded very tired and, yes, now very afraid again, too. Looking into Mr Ambrose¡¯s eyes obviously made him feel there might yet be worse things in store for him. I knew the feeling.


    ¡®When did all this start?¡¯ Mr Ambrose asked.


    ¡®All this, Sir? I¡¯m afraid I do not¡­¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t play games with me, Simmons! With me, the stakes are far too high.¡¯


    Simmons swallowed.


    ¡®I know,¡¯ his former employer continued in a cold voice, ¡®that you must have been in the pay of one of my enemies for some time. They could not simply convince you to break into my private safe overnight. You are far too insecure and timid for that. So I repeat: when did this all start?¡¯


    ¡®S-six or seven weeks ago, Sir.¡¯

 Page 82

    ¡®I see.¡¯ Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t seem to be fazed by the information. But then, when did he ever seem fazed by anything? ¡®How did it happen?¡¯


    ¡®Th-they came to my house one evening. They told me that they had a proposition for me, that they would pay much better than that miser Ambro-¡¯


    Simmons almost bit his tongue off, realizing a bit too late that it might not be very wise to relate the men¡¯s exact words. I had to stuff my fist into my mouth to keep from sniggering. Karim noticed and threw me a look that could have burned holes in solid metal.


    ¡®Is that what they said?¡¯ Mr Ambrose mused, his facial expression not changing a bit. ¡®Well, and did they pay much better than that miser Ambrose?¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ well¡­¡¯


    ¡®Let¡¯s assume from the suitcase of banknotes we found in your room that they did indeed. What did you do for them?¡¯


    ¡®I¡­ I gave them information on your daily routine, your correspondence, on what files and papers passed through my hands, Sir. At least at first.¡¯


    ¡®And later?¡¯


    ¡®Later they wanted more, Sir. They wanted me to start taking things. When I refused, they started threatening they would reveal to you what I had so far done for them.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose nodded. ¡®Of course. You are stupid, Simmons, do you know that?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir.¡¯


    Simmons lowered his eyes, but Mr Ambrose stepped closer and with his penetrating dark gaze forced the man to look up again.


    ¡®These things you took - what were they?¡¯


    ¡®All manner of things, Sir. Business letters, tables of cargo, personal letters¡­¡¯


    The silence in the room was sudden, frigid, and cut Simmons'' speech off more effectively than the loudest of screams.


    ¡®You,¡¯ whispered Mr Ambrose in a voice I had never heard him use before, ¡®gave my personal correspondence to these men?¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ yes.¡¯ There was a squeak of panic in Simmons'' voice now. ¡®But¡­ that¡¯s not that bad, is it? It¡¯s not like you ever read it, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®Letters written by a woman?¡¯ Mr Ambrose inquired, ignoring the question. ¡®Letters in pink envelopes?¡¯


    ¡®Y-yes, Sir.¡¯


    Silence again. Then Mr Ambrose stated, as cold as Antarctica itself: ¡®You are lucky that Karim is the one holding the sabre right now.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir. I am sorry, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®You certainly will be.¡¯


    Again Simmons tried to look down, and again Mr Ambrose held him with his dark gaze. ¡®Now tell me. Tell me about the day you stole the file.¡¯


    ¡®Well¡­ they told me to take it and¡­ and I did.¡¯


    ¡®How many days did they have to work on you before you agreed?¡¯


    ¡®A w-week and a half. I didn¡¯t want to take it. I knew it was important.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose¡¯s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. Simmons winced as if he¡¯d been hit with a whip.


    That reaction told me more about the contents of the file than any of my wild guesses.


    ¡®Oh, you¡¯re right about that,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said in low voice. ¡®It¡¯s important all right. When and how did you leave the house the night of your theft?¡¯


    ¡®I¡­ I was just finished with work, Sir. I knew you were still working on the Emerson papers in your office. I locked the door to the hallway, went into the safe and took the file.¡¯


    ¡®How did you know where to look for it? You had never handled that particular file.¡¯


    ¡®They told me it had to be in the safe, and told me the time it concerned. I knew your filing system, and so knew what to look for.¡¯


    ¡®I see. And your way out?¡¯


    ¡®That was easy. I am - was - your private secretary. Nobody challenged me on the way out. I had the file concealed under my waistcoat, tucked into my trousers.¡¯


    ¡®Trust!¡¯ It was a vicious growl, a sound unlike any other I had ever heard escape from my employer¡¯s throat. With surprise I saw that Mr Ambrose had both hands clenched into tight fists. ¡®Of course, it would have to be trust that brought me down! Again! Ah, but we will change that. No more! Karim!¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sahib?¡¯


    The huge Mohammedan stepped forward.


    ¡®Talk to Warren. Have him station one of his men at the exit to my offices¡¯ inner sanctum at all times. From now on, we will search everybody who comes in and everybody who leaves. Understood?¡¯


    ¡®It shall be as you command, Sahib!¡¯


    Karim left the room. Something clicked outside, and after only a few moments he was back in the cell. How¡­? He couldn¡¯t possibly have run up the corridor and delivered the message that quickly, could he? Then I remembered: pneumatic tubes. Apparently, they didn¡¯t only connect Mr Ambrose¡¯s office and mine. They had to be running through the whole building!


    My employer, meanwhile, had his full attention focused on his captive again.


    ¡®What did you do with the file next?¡¯


    Simmons wet his lips. He seemed to be getting more and more nervous, which I didn¡¯t understand. He had already admitted the worst - taking the file, right? So what was there about his story that could cause him greater anxiety?


    ¡®I took it right away to a house in Penrose Street.¡¯


    ¡®Mr Linton?¡¯


    It took me a few seconds to realize that Mr Ambrose had addressed me. He was still staring fixedly at Simmons, his back to me.


    ¡®Um¡­ yes, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®I haven¡¯t been back in London long, and neither has Karim. We¡¯ve spent years away in the colonies. What kind of street is Penrose Street?¡¯


    I cleared my throat. ¡®Not a very reputable one, I believe, Sir. It¡¯s one of the names that often comes up in police reports in the papers.¡¯


    Simmons nodded eagerly and shuddered. ¡®It was a dreadful place, full of coolies and other lowlife. I have no idea why they always wanted to meet there.¡¯


    ¡®I can think of only one explanation,¡¯ Mr Ambrose mused. ¡®In case you were caught or followed there, they wanted everybody to think it was low criminals with whom you were consorting. Which makes me think that the exact opposite was the case.¡¯


    ¡®They weren¡¯t criminals?¡¯ I asked, confused.


    ¡®Oh, they were criminals all right. But certainly not low ones. In fact I suspect they were rather high up the food chain. Am I correct?¡¯


    Simmons'' shudder was more than enough answer.

 Page 83

    ¡®The address?¡¯


    ¡®Number 12, Penrose Street, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®What exactly happened?¡¯


    ¡®They gave me the money and said this was our last transaction. When I asked them why, they said that unlike the other times, this theft would not go unnoticed. They advised me to get out of the country right away. The expression on their faces¡­ I¡¯ll never forget it.¡¯


    ¡®Now we come to the interesting part.¡¯ Mr Ambrose took out his cane and placed the end on Simmons¡¯ chest. I remembered, as no doubt Simmons did, that there was a sword concealed inside it.


    ¡®Who are those ¡°they¡± you keep talking about? Who hired you to steal from me?¡¯


    Simmons paled.


    ¡®I d-don''t know. They never gave me their names.¡¯


    ¡®But you do know one name, don''t you? It¡¯s useless to deny it, I can see it in your face.¡¯


    ¡®No, I don''t! I swear, I don''t know anything, Sir!¡¯


    Mr Ambrose¡¯s head whipped sideways to glare at Karim, and the Mohammedan retreated under the force of his cold stare. ¡®What¡¯s this? I thought you said this man was ready to confess everything!¡¯


    Karim looked pretty uncomfortable. I tried not to smile, but it was kind of funny to see that mountain of a man shuffle around like a told-off school boy.


    ¡®He was. I swear to you, Sahib, he was.¡¯


    ¡®Hmm¡­¡¯


    Mr Ambrose turned to his captive again, scrutinizing him intently.


    ¡®You¡¯re scared. That¡¯s why you won¡¯t tell me. You¡¯re scared of this man whose name you won¡¯t speak.¡¯


    ¡®No, Sir! I swear, I don¡¯t know anything! I don¡¯t¡­¡¯


    Mr Ambrose¡¯s cane pressing against his throat cut off his words in a croak.


    ¡®Simmons, let me put it this way: who are you more afraid of - this man or me?¡¯


    The ex-secretary opened and closed his mouth like a stranded goldfish, but nothing came out, even when Mr Ambrose drew back his cane.


    ¡®Interesting¡­ apparently it¡¯s a tie?¡¯


    Simmons nodded.


    ¡®Well, then think of this.¡¯ Mr Ambrose leant forward and whispered, in a tone so calmly threatening it made the hair on the back of my neck and on some other more delicate place stand up: ¡®I have you in my power. He does not.¡¯


    Simmons slumped.


    ¡®All right,¡¯ he moaned. ¡®All right, I¡¯ll tell you. But only under one condition.¡¯


    ¡®Which is?¡¯


    ¡®You let me go and give me a train ticket out of town. If I tell you that name, I¡¯ll need to get out of town, and my legs won¡¯t be fast enough.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose didn¡¯t hesitate.


    ¡®Granted.¡¯ He nodded curtly. ¡®The name?¡¯


    ¡®I¡­ don''t think I was supposed to hear it,¡¯ Simmons said in a low voice, looking around as if he expected somebody to appear out of the air and strike him down. ¡®They were talking one day when I arrived early, and I heard it.¡¯


    ¡®The name, Simmons!¡¯


    ¡®The train ticket! You have to swear that I¡¯ll get the train ticket!¡¯


    ¡®I swear! The name, Simmons! Now!¡¯


    Simmons looked around and wet his lips again. ¡®It¡¯s¡­ It is¡­¡¯


    Suddenly, he stopped and shook his head, gazing at Karim and me out of heavily lidded, tired and very frightened eyes.


    ¡®No! I don''t want anybody else to hear it.¡¯


    What?


    Was he joking? I was on the tips of my toes here!


    ¡®I don''t want him to find out,¡¯ Simmons murmured. ¡®If he does¡­¡¯


    Quickly he leant forward and whispered something in Mr Ambrose¡¯s ear.


    Blast the man!


    I had been waiting breathlessly all this time for the solution of the mystery, and now I wasn¡¯t going to hear it? I wanted to clobber Simmons over the head with something heavy, especially when I saw Mr Ambrose¡¯s eyes lighting up in recognition.


    ¡®Him!¡¯ His hands were balled into fists again. ¡®After all this time, him!¡¯


    For a moment his eyes flickered to me - then they were back on Simmons.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ he said, almost as if speaking to himself, ¡®at least now we know that the file is still in England. He wouldn¡¯t dream of having to run and hide. He probably thinks himself untouchable.¡¯ In a softer voice he added: ¡®And who knows¡­ He might be right.¡¯


    Abruptly, he fixed his icy glare on Simmons. ¡®You will not speak of this to anybody else, understand?¡¯ The threat was there, hard and cold in his voice.


    Simmons¡¯ lips twitched. There was no humour about it. ¡®Certainly not, Sir. I value my throat just as it is, without any decorative cuts or slashes in it.¡¯


    ¡®Very well.¡¯


    Mr Ambrose rose and strode towards the cell door.


    ¡®What about my ticket?¡¯ Simmons called after him. ¡®When will I be released? I want to get out of here!¡¯


    Mr Ambrose stopped. Slowly, he turned. When he was facing the cell again, both Simmons and I couldn¡¯t help but gasp. He had a knife in his hand.


    ¡®No! Please don''t!¡¯ Simmons croaked. ¡®I¡¯ve done everything you asked! Please¡­¡¯


    ¡®Be quiet and hold still, man!¡¯ Mr Ambrose commanded. ¡®I nearly forgot - there¡¯s something I still need from you.¡¯ With two quick steps he was back at Simmons'' side and grabbed him by the hair. The knife flashed in the darkness as it shot towards Simmons'' head.


    And then it was over, and Mr Ambrose¡¯s hand came away holding a lock of blond hair he had severed from Simmons'' head.


    ¡®That was all.¡¯


    I stared at him incredulously. For once, Karim seemed to share my feelings. He was looking at Mr Ambrose as if he¡¯d grown three additional heads.


    Pointing to the blond lock in my employer¡¯s hand, I hissed: ¡®What¡¯s that supposed to be? A memento?¡¯


    ¡®In a way.¡¯


    He turned away again and said, sparing neither me nor the ghost-white Simmons another glance:


    ¡®Somebody will be along to bring you a change of clothes soon. You can¡¯t be seen coming out of my building in the filthy rags you¡¯re in right now. The man will show you to the street and give you everything you need. Our business is concluded, Mr Simmons. Our paths will not cross again.¡¯


    Without waiting for an answer, he strode out of the cell. Karim and I followed him, the former grim and silent, the latter, that is to say my good self, twitchy and curious to the point of madness.

 Page 84

    ¡®What did you do to him so that he¡¯d spill the beans?¡¯ I blurted out as soon as the metal door had closed behind us. ¡®And who was it that ordered him to spy on you? And why should anybody want to spy on you anyway?¡¯


    Mr Ambrose had already started up the corridor again. He didn¡¯t turn around or, God forbid, stop to let me catch up.


    ¡®Mind your own business, Mr Linton!¡¯


    ¡®I work for you, so your business is my business. What¡¯s the point of someone spying on you?¡¯


    ¡®It is commonly referred to as ¡°industrial espionage¡±,¡¯ he called. Blast! That way of his to talk into the opposite direction of where you were standing was really annoying. ¡®It means the stealing of secrets of one businessman by another businessman.¡¯


    ¡®What¡¯s that good for?¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s not only nation states that seek to discover each other¡¯s secrets. Secrets mean faster development and more money. Always remember: Knowledge is power is time is money!¡¯


    I frowned. Something seemed to be wrong with that sentence. ¡®I thought it¡¯s ¡°knowledge is power¡± and ¡°time is money¡±.¡¯


    ¡®I combined the two to save time.¡¯


    ¡®Oh.¡¯


    I lapsed into silence again for a moment. But then I remembered.


    ¡®Wait! That wasn¡¯t my only question. I had others! You were trying to distract me.¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes. Karim¡¯s innovative torture methods.¡¯


    That hadn¡¯t been the question at the top of my list, and I was about to tell him that actually I was more interested in the name of his mysterious enemy, but then¡­ this was something I was pretty interested to hear, too.


    ¡®Tell her, Karim,¡¯ Mr Ambrose commanded.


    Good God! Did he just use a feminine pronoun to refer to me? Whoever is behind all this, hearing their name must really have gotten to him!


    ¡®Tell her?¡¯ The bearded mountain¡¯s eyes bugged. ¡®Sahib! You do not mean that!¡¯


    ¡®Have I ever given an order that I have not meant?¡¯


    ¡®No, Sahib, but¡­¡¯


    ¡®Have I ever fallen into the habit of joking or making other kinds of remarks that were not of a serious and literal nature?¡¯


    ¡®I must admit, Sahib, no, but in this case¡­¡¯


    ¡®Tell he- I mean, tell him!¡¯


    Karim lowered his head.


    ¡®As you wish, Sahib.¡¯


    With a few longer strides of his massive legs he had caught up to me and was marching next to me. I looked sideways. His face was trying for impassivity, but I could see the wrath of seven hells burning under the surface.


    ¡®After I failed in my attempt with the Chinese water torture,¡¯ he said in a voice that was supposed to be detached, ¡®it came to me in a divine stroke of inspiration that a less classical approach might be more effective. So I stripped Simmons of all his clothes, including his undergarments, and threatened that if he would not divulge his information, I would drug him, dress him in a pink French ballet dancer¡¯s costume, and tie him to the fountain in Trafalgar Square for the crowd to discover in the morning.¡¯


    There were a few seconds of silence.


    ¡®He didn¡¯t seem to believe me at first. That¡¯s when I went out and bought a costume. I brought it back and showed it to him¡­ and that broke him.¡¯


    There were a few more seconds of silence.


    ¡®A¡­ ballet costume?¡¯ I finally asked.


    ¡®Yes. Pink, with a short silk skirt and golden lace trimmings.¡¯


    ¡®I see.¡¯


    Cautiously, I looked sideways again and could see Karim¡¯s hand at his belt, gripping the hilt of his scimitar. His eyes found mine. ¡®Come on,¡¯ they seemed to say. ¡®Laugh. Come on. I¡¯m the one with the huge sabre. Laugh, and we''ll see if you¡¯re still laughing when I have separated your head from your body.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ a very interesting method indeed,¡¯ I managed. I was fighting an epic battle to keep a straight face. Let me tell you, Waterloo was nothing to it. I might have lost it after all, just like Napoleon, the poor chap, if a more serious thought had not invaded my mind, providing much needed reinforcements.


    ¡®You distracted me!¡¯ I exclaimed. ¡®Again!¡¯


    ¡®I?¡¯ Karim¡¯s stare changed from threatening abrupt death to confusion. ¡®I didn¡¯t¡­¡¯


    ¡®Not you! You!¡¯ I pointed at Mr Ambrose. He couldn¡¯t see it though, because he was still walking briskly ahead of us, his back to me.


    ¡®You¡¯ve done it twice now! I want my first question answered! I want to know that name! Who was spying on you, damn you?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t stop, didn¡¯t answer. Just held up one admonishing finger in an abrupt movement. What the blooming hell¡­ Oh, right. Be courteous. Be respectful.


    ¡®Who was spying on you, Sir?¡¯ I asked, my voice sweeter than a pot full of honey.


    He didn¡¯t even glance around.


    ¡®Can¡¯t tell you that.¡¯


    ¡®Why the dickens not? Um¡­ Sir?¡¯


    ¡®It is for your own good, believe me.¡¯


    Oh, of course I believe you. Why would I ever doubt a word that comes out of your mouth?


    ¡®Who is he? Who is this chap who¡¯s hiring people to spy on you?¡¯


    Mr Ambrose gave a snort. ¡®I¡¯m not sure that ¡°chap¡± would be the right noun to describe him.¡¯


    ¡®Well, what would describe him, then?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t fall for the trap.


    ¡®Adequate try, Mr Linton.¡¯


    Not even good try?


    ¡®Why won¡¯t you tell me?¡¯


    I looked sideways at Karim again, but although he tried not to let it show, he was just as nonplussed as I was. He didn¡¯t know who this mystery man was either. And if Mr Ambrose¡¯s motivations of not telling for our own good also applied to Karim¡­


    Eyeing the large sabre at the Mohammedan¡¯s belt, I shuddered. Who in the world could be a threat to Karim? Who could be more dangerous than a sabre-wielding bearded giant? Maybe I really shouldn¡¯t delve too deeply into this. Maybe it would be wise just to let it go.


    But then again, when had I ever been wise? If I were, life would be so very dull.


    ¡®We could better guard against him if we knew who he was,¡¯ I pointed out.


    I could see he¡¯d rather have bitten his tongue off, but Karim opened his mouth.


    ¡®She does,¡¯ he said in a slow tone of voice as if he had to drag every word forcibly from the pit of his stomach, ¡®actually have a point, Sahib.¡¯

 Page 85

    ¡®No, he doesn''t.¡¯ Mr Ambrose shook his head.


    We turned a corner and suddenly stood before the door into the main hall again. There Mr Ambrose waited till we had caught up with him. He stood, silent and still as a statue, facing the door as if he could see images there that were invisible to anybody else. We stepped up beside him, but still he didn¡¯t move. Karim, who obviously - unlike me - didn¡¯t have the intention of arguing with his master any more, felt the need to change the subject. He cleared his throat and asked: ¡®Should I buy a ticket for Mr Simmons, Sahib?¡¯


    Mr Ambrose twitched, seeming to awake from a trance.


    ¡®What did you say?¡¯


    ¡®The ticket for Mr Simmons. The train ticket out of London. Should I buy it and give it to him when he leaves the building?¡¯


    There was one more moment of silence. Then Mr Ambrose shook his head. ¡®He will be dead within a day of leaving this building,¡¯ he said matter-of-factly. ¡®Corpses need no tickets.¡¯


    I paled and stared at him, wide-eyed.


    ¡®D-dead?¡¯ I stuttered. ¡®But you said¡­¡¯


    ¡®Oh, I won¡¯t kill him.¡¯ He turned to look at me. There was a slightly different set to his mouth. If I didn¡¯t know that he didn¡¯t have such a thing as facial expressions, I would almost have said he looked¡­ grim. ¡®I won¡¯t need to. He told me the name of his employer.¡¯


    ¡®And?¡¯


    ¡®And I know the man. Once he leaves this building, Simmons has only hours to live.¡¯ He turned again and opened the door. ¡®So you see, there¡¯s no reason to waste perfectly good money.¡¯


    Dysfunctional Dismissal


    Hours to live. He has only hours to live.


    The sentence, so calmly spoken, was still echoing through my mind while I followed Mr Ambrose up the stairs and through the hallway. I barely noticed Mr Stone¡¯s greeting in time to return it.


    Hours to live. Only hours.


    Should somebody warn Simmons? Shouldn¡¯t Mr Ambrose? But I saw that wasn¡¯t going to happen. He wasn¡¯t going to kill Simmons for what the man had done, but neither was he going to lift a finger to preserve his life. I knew that from looking at his face alone.


    ¡®Mr Linton?¡¯ Mr Ambrose¡¯s calm and cool voice startled me from my thoughts. ¡®Step into my office for a minute. There is a business matter I wish to discuss with you.¡¯


    A business matter? Now? What about the fellow you¡¯re setting up to have his throat slit?


    ¡®Of course, Sir.¡¯ Rolling my eyes, I followed him into his office. I should have guessed this was going to happen, of course.


    Knowledge is power is time is money, right?


    So we find out who has stolen this incredibly important document. What do we do next? Take a day off to celebrate? No, not with Mr Ambrose. There¡¯s a ¡®business matter¡¯ to take care of. And after that, probably another. And another.


    I wondered what we were going to do. Start tracking this man down, whose name Mr Ambrose wouldn¡¯t divulge? But then, what did he need me for? I could hardly look for somebody whose name I didn¡¯t know. Not even with a sack full of onions was I that good.


    Mr Ambrose sat down behind his desk. I sat down directly opposite him in the visitor¡¯s chair. Yet instead of cutting to the chase in his usual manner, he started arranging all the papers on the desk into neat piles.


    What the heck was going on? Was Mr Ambrose, Mr Save-time-or-die Ambrose, actually stalling? In other words, wasting precious moments that could be transformed into money?


    He was. Something was seriously wrong here. I bit my tongue to suppress the urge to ask. Only when the last piece of paper was where it was supposed to be did Mr Ambrose finally look up.


    ¡®You will be leaving in an hour. Stone will pay you for your services rendered so far and order a cab for you to take you home.¡¯


    I frowned. What was this?


    ¡®I¡­ I do not understand.¡¯


    ¡®It is very simple. Our employer-employee relationship is hereby terminated. You will receive a note of dismissal at my earliest convenience. Good day, Mr Linton. Do not let me detain you.¡¯


    He looked down again and started to read one of the files in front of him as if I weren¡¯t there anymore. It took me a few seconds to get it. To fully appreciate what he had just done. When I did, my hands clenched into fists.


    ¡®You¡­ you¡¯re dismissing me?¡¯


    ¡®Indeed I am. Or rather, I already have.¡¯ Slowly, he looked up again, fixing me with his dark gaze. ¡®It would appear that you are still present. Perhaps you didn¡¯t understand me. You are dismissed. Which means you can leave. Now.¡¯


    ¡®Why?¡¯ I felt bloody moisture in my eyes. No, no! I was not going to cry in front of him! I was not going to prove right every single prejudice he had about girls, there and then. I was not an overly emotional, silly female! I wasn¡¯t! I wasn¡¯t! ¡®Why are you doing this? What have I done wrong?¡¯


    He cocked his head minutely. ¡®Wrong?¡¯


    ¡®Bloody hell! Isn¡¯t it sort of a rule that an employee can only be dismissed if they¡¯ve done something wrong? What did I do? Didn¡¯t I carry your files fast enough? Didn¡¯t I dress male enough for you? Did I breathe too loud? Tell me, blast, what did I do?¡¯


    He shook his head, but his eyes didn¡¯t go with the movement. They remained fixed on me. His gaze was disturbing. I had never met a man filled with so much silent concentration.


    ¡®You don''t understand, Mr Linton. You didn¡¯t do anything wrong.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ I blinked the moisture out of my eyes before it could spill over. ¡®Then what is the matter? Why are you trying to get rid of me?¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t you see?¡¯ His hands on the desk curled up into fists. I could see that behind his calm exterior a storm was brewing. But I wouldn¡¯t be put off by that. I couldn¡¯t leave this job! Not now of all times. Not now that he was in trouble and up against someone dangerous!


    And since when have you started worrying about what he¡¯s up against? Haven¡¯t you got enough problems of your own?


    No, I didn¡¯t. Problems were fun. Problems were adventure. Besides, I¡¯d be damned if I left before I got my first pay cheque out of that miser!


    That miser was just now staring at me as if he¡¯d like to strangle me instead of pay me. In a very low, controlled voice he said: ¡®Mr Linton¡­ I¡¯m no run-of-the-mill businessman who sells tin cans at the market. I have my own empire and consequently must deal with my own espionage and fight my own wars, Mr Linton. Right now, a war is coming.¡¯

 Page 86

    ¡®A¡­ war? Over one piece of paper?¡¯


    ¡®Yes. A war. Possibly the biggest I¡¯ve ever fought. I don''t want you to be caught in the crossfire.¡¯


    ¡®Why?¡¯ My voice was trembling. My bloody stupid, unreliable voice was actually trembling! ¡®What do you care?¡¯


    For a second I almost believed a muscle in his face twitched. But no, I was surely mistaken.


    ¡®I¡­I cannot have a girl being in danger,¡¯ he said, raising his chin determinedly. ¡®Any girl. My honour as a gentleman forbids it.¡¯


    Out of all the possible answers, this wasn¡¯t the one likely to go down well with me. I leant forward over the desk, my glare almost matching his.


    ¡®I¡¯m not some helpless maiden who needs to be protected! I am a free human being and can do whatever I wish. And if I wish to remain in your employ, then I will remain in your employ until such time as I give you a reason to dismiss me, Sir!¡¯


    Slowly, Mr Ambrose clenched and unclenched his fingers.


    ¡®You know, Mr Linton, you have a way of saying ¡°Sir¡± that makes it sound astonishingly like a synonym for ¡°miserable chauvinist worm¡±.¡¯


    ¡®I wonder why that is.¡¯


    There were a few moments of silent brooding. Nobody could silently brood like Mr Ambrose. He seemed to fill the entire office with an utterly still, quiet, silent and dark disapproval that was so thick you could choke on it.


    ¡®So you won¡¯t go of your own free will?¡¯ he finally asked.


    ¡®No!¡¯


    ¡®You, Mr Linton, are stupid and reckless.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed, Mr Ambrose?¡¯


    ¡®Yes indeed, Mr Linton.¡¯


    Half a minute more of silent brooding followed. Oh yes, he could brood exceedingly well, and shoot sinister glances, too. But I wasn¡¯t too bad myself.


    ¡®Why won¡¯t you go?¡¯ he demanded.


    ¡®You know why. This is the only chance I¡¯ll ever get at a career, at independence.¡¯


    And I don''t want to leave you in your hour of need.


    The blasted thought was there, undoubtedly. But I couldn¡¯t admit it out loud. I couldn¡¯t even admit it to myself inside.


    ¡®You could get killed.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t a threat. Not even a warning. It was simply a statement of fact.


    ¡®I know, Sir. Would you pay for my burial?¡¯


    ¡®Are you completely mad?¡¯


    ¡®Not completely, no.¡¯


    ¡®Well, then you should leave right now!¡¯


    ¡®I won¡¯t!¡¯


    ¡®I could make you leave,¡¯ he threatened. ¡®We both know that in reality there is no ¡°Mister Victor Linton¡±. I could reveal you for what you are and make you leave so easily.¡¯


    ¡®You gave your word not to!¡¯


    A cold hiss rose from his throat. ¡®I never felt more like breaking it! You have no place here. It is all just a mirage. A phantasm. An insane dream of yours.¡¯


    I leant forward some more, putting my hands on his desk.


    ¡®What do you want?¡¯ I hissed back at him. ¡®What do you dream about? Have I ever asked, or dared to criticize?¡¯


    The question seemed to catch him off guard. His mouth opened a little bit. ¡®Well¡­ no.¡¯


    ¡®Then don''t you dare tell me my dreams are insane! Because my dreams are what I live for!¡¯


    Silence again. This time, though, it wasn¡¯t brooding. Rather, it was pondering. And so was he. He pondered for a while - a long while. In the end, I decided that this time I had better break the silence.


    ¡®You didn¡¯t answer my question, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®Which one?¡¯


    ¡®If I die, will you pay for the funeral?¡¯


    He stared down at his fingers for a moment.


    ¡®I don''t know. It depends on how well you have served me. Maybe, if you¡¯ve earned me enough money by then, I would consider it.¡¯


    A grin spread over my face.


    ¡®Does that mean you¡¯ll keep your word? I can stay? In spite of the danger? In spite of being a girl?¡¯


    ¡®Yes!¡¯ he growled. ¡®Yes, you can stay - until and unless,¡¯ he added, ¡®you leave of your own free will.¡¯


    My grin widened.


    ¡®Ha! That¡¯s not very likely, Sir!¡¯


    Unclenching his hands, he carefully steepled his fingers together, gazing at me over the top. ¡®Don¡¯t be so sure.¡¯


    ¡®Why? What are you going to do? Make me carry twice as many files as before?¡¯


    I could have been wrong, of course, about what I thought I saw next. Afterwards I thought I probably had to be wrong. Maybe he was having a muscle spasm around the mouth or something. But for a moment it looked like one of the corners of his mouth actually twitched up in the beginnings of a smile.


    ¡®That¡¯s not exactly what I had in mind, Mr Linton.¡¯


    I was feeling great. I had won! Against Mr Arrogant-Stone-Face Ambrose! I was feeling really great - until I got home that evening and saw the familiar coach of Sir Philip Wilkins standing in front of our house, with several servants in attendance.


    Blast!


    I immediately knew what that had to mean. On his previous visits, when Wilkins had come alone to see Ella, he had arrived in a small carriage with an open roof. The arrival of his largest coach could mean only one thing: a ball. And, moreover, a ball which not only Ella would be attending with him. No. We all would go.


    Including me.


    Me! Sweet little me, exposed to the horrors and dangers of a ball!


    Blast, blast, blast! Why hadn¡¯t I heard of this? Yes, last time he had given us a last-minute invitation, but something like that was far from usual. Normally invitations to balls were issued weeks in advance.


    Why didn¡¯t I hear about this? I could have started my protest in time, or hidden in the London sewers, or burned the house down!


    I saw my aunt step out of the door. Thank God I had already changed out of Uncle Bufford¡¯s trousers, because a moment later she spotted me and gave me a self-satisfied smile. A very bad word escaped me that I was sure a lady shouldn¡¯t use, especially to describe her own aunt. But I couldn¡¯t help it. I realized what had happened. Of course! That witch had deliberately not told me about the ball so I wouldn¡¯t find a way to get out of it!


    For a moment I considered running. I could escape into the dark streets of London and spend the night under a bridge, where surely it would be more comfortable than in a brightly lit ballroom with people everywhere wanting to dance. Nobody would try to step on my feet under a bridge, for a start. But then I remembered Ella and felt ashamed of myself. Hadn¡¯t I promised myself that I would find a way to help my little sister get rid of Wilkins? And here I was shirking going to a ball along with her and her unwanted admirer.

 Page 87

    I had to go! I had to protect her from Wilkins'' attentions as best I could.


    So, feeling as though I were walking towards my doom, I began to set one foot in front of the other, finally reaching the doorway.


    ¡®Ah, there you are, Lilly!¡¯ My aunt smiled a smile so devious it belonged exclusively to aunts and serial killers. ¡®Do you know what? I absolutely forgot to tell you that we received an invitation to Lady Metcalf¡¯s ball.¡¯


    I closed my eyes. My fate was worse than I had imagined.


    ¡®Lady Metcalf?¡¯ I whispered, my voice resembling the last desperate vocal attempts of a victim of pertussis[34] before the grave claimed them.


    ¡®Indeed. And Sir Philip is so nice as to take us all there in his coach. Isn¡¯t that just wonderful, Lillian?¡¯


    ¡®I can hardly find words to express my feelings on the subject.¡¯


    ¡®Probably.¡¯ She eyed me sharply. Suddenly, her voice became a lot less sweet and a lot more like that of a general. ¡®Go upstairs and dress! I¡¯ve laid your ball gown out for you and will expect you down here in five minutes.¡¯


    ¡®We''ll be leaving that quickly?¡¯


    ¡®No. But I¡¯ll need to keep an eye on you. And I have a few words to say to you before we leave.¡¯


    Oh-oh¡­ This can¡¯t be good.


    I hurried upstairs to change, determined to do it in under five minutes. Unfortunately, Ella wasn¡¯t there to help me, so it took me over a quarter of an hour to squeeze into my ball gown. When I came down again, my aunt didn¡¯t look at all pleased. I could hear Maria¡¯s high laugh from the drawing room, and a door opening.


    ¡®They are coming.¡¯ Grabbing me by the arm, my aunt dragged me outside and shooed the servants away. She pulled me behind the coach and drew herself up to her full height.


    ¡®Listen, girl! I don''t know how you managed to scare off Lieutenant Ellingham¡­¡¯


    I started to protest, to tell her that I had nothing to do with his disappearance, but she silenced me with one of those scary-aunt looks that made you want to put your head under a blanket.


    ¡®I don''t know how you scared him off,¡¯ she continued in a low tone, ¡®but I¡¯ll wager it was by exhibiting the same appalling behaviour as the other night at Sir Philip¡¯s Ball. Refusing to dance, indeed! There will be none of that tonight, little lady, none of your incivilities, none of your foolishness, nothing! You will behave yourself like a true gentleman¡¯s daughter, or you will have to answer to me.¡¯


    ¡®But I don''t misbehave on purpose,¡¯ I said with rising desperation. ¡®It just¡­ happens. I¡¯m not very good at judging what is ladylike behaviour and what isn¡¯t. What should I do?¡¯


    ¡®Oh that¡¯s easy.¡¯ My aunt let her fan snap open and waved it experimentally. ¡®Just do the exact opposite of what you¡¯d like to do, and you¡¯ll be fine.¡¯


    Can I just say that remark miffed me more than a little bit? I wasn¡¯t that badly behaved, was I?


    Was I?


    Well, maybe sometimes. When I felt like it. Which was, admittedly, most of the time. Oh, blast it! Very well. I would do as my aunt wished. Fixing a fake smile on my face, I curtsied as deeply as I could without keeling over.


    ¡®Certainly, Madam. May I be permitted to withdraw from your presence? I wish to seek out my sister.¡¯


    My aunt blinked as if she were seeing and hearing a mirage and not her own niece.


    ¡®Um¡­ very well. Go ahead. That was not bad, just now. Not bad at all.¡¯


    I curtsied again. ¡®Thank you very much, Madam. You are too kind, Madam. Your obedient servant, Madam.¡¯ Curtsying twice more just to make the point, I withdrew.


    On the other side of the coach, I met my sister. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one. I smiled at Maria as brightly as the sunshine and did another curtsy.


    ¡®Dear Sister! How glad I am to see you. Might I enquire where I can find my dear, dear, dear sister Ella? I wish to speak to her, my dear.¡¯


    Maria stared at my bright smile with open eyes, her mouth forming a little ''o''.


    ¡®Have you been drinking from uncle¡¯s port wine?¡¯ she demanded.


    I wish I had. I had never tried alcohol myself, but I¡¯d heard it was pretty good for numbing the brain and lessening the pain of torturous experiences - like the one I was going through right now.


    ¡®Good heavens, no, dearest sister. Whatever can have given you that impression? I would never be so presumptuous! Moreover, why would a lady even think of drinking spirits? What an outlandish idea, my dearest sister.¡¯


    I smiled again, and curtsied again. And again. Maria was dumbstruck. Blimey, my acting skills were fantastic. I should really consider going on the stage.


    ¡®I shall depart now and go looking for dear Ella, my dear Maria.¡¯


    I was hardly around the corner when my smile flickered and went out. Blast! This would be difficult to keep up.


    I met Ella as she was leaving our house on Wilkins'' arm. Immediately, I switched my smile back on and positioned myself on her other side. From the still-open door of our house, I caught a whiff of exotic flowers.


    ¡®New bouquets?¡¯ I asked her in an undertone.


    Ella turned her wide, pleading eyes on me.


    ¡®Half a dozen of them! He has told me that my lips look like rose petals, and my hair like sunflowers, and my skin like lilies, and he apparently thinks it necessary to bring me copious quantities of all that vegetation every time he makes a comparison. Please don''t leave me, Lill!¡¯


    I patted her arm. ¡®Don¡¯t you worry. I¡¯m right here.¡¯


    For a moment she closed her eyes in silent gratitude. She looked about ready to faint. And this time, I was ready to bet her anxiety had nothing to do with the fact that the man next to her wished to marry her against her will. A knight of the British Empire was leading her by the arm! That was enough to make Ella faint any day.


    I, personally, didn¡¯t have such a high opinion of Britain¡¯s aristocracy. They didn¡¯t seem to have anything better to do than to roam their lands shooting pheasants and foxes. Not that I missed those - I had met a pheasant in Green Park once, and it had squawked at me in a most unpleasant manner, enough for anybody to want to shoot it - but still, they didn¡¯t seem to be a very productive sort of bird[35]. The aristocracy, I mean, not the pheasants.


    We all walked to the coach, Wilkins taking the place on one side of her while I squeezed myself in on the other side, in easy slapping distance of his face. With his long nose and over-large ears, he didn¡¯t seem like the sort of chap who would suddenly start ravishing a young lady, but then, you could never be sure. I wanted to be close so he wouldn¡¯t get any quick ravishing done while I wasn¡¯t looking.

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    ¡®Well,¡¯ Sir Philip said, beaming widely. ¡®Isn¡¯t this cosy?¡¯


    Not for the first time I wondered whether there was something wrong with his brain.


    The others climbed in after us, the driver jumped onto the box and off we went. The coach wheels rattled on the cobblestones as we moved towards Lady Metcalf¡¯s residence at a brisk pace. Needless to say I didn¡¯t know how long the drive was going to be. I was not a regular visitor there.


    Just before we turned around the first corner, I looked back and saw a figure standing in front of our neighbour¡¯s house. Even at this distance I could see the anguished look on Edmund¡¯s face. My, my. The chap had really got it bad. I was so glad I didn¡¯t have anything to do with this stuff called love and never would be stupid enough to. It never seemed to work out right.


    Suddenly, Ella turned her head to look back, and I quickly turned forward again, fixing my new official ball-grin on my face. It was hard to keep up. The expression on Ella¡¯s face as she gazed at her love disappearing in the distance was like a poisoned dagger to the heart of a loving sister.


    ¡®What are you looking at, Miss Ella?¡¯ enquired the blasted Wilkins, turning to follow her gaze.


    ¡®Oh, nothing, nothing,¡¯ she said hurriedly and, thank the Lord, it was at that exact moment we turned the corner and Edmund vanished from sight.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ Wilkins chuckled nervously, turning around again, ¡®I guarantee you that anything we might be leaving behind is not half as interesting as what we are driving towards.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed?¡¯ Ella¡¯s voice was polite but indignant; disbelieving love-light shone in her eyes.


    Anne leant forward, her curiosity peeked. ¡®Is Lady Metcalf¡¯s ball going to be that spectacular, then? Do you know something we don''t?¡¯


    ¡®No, I fancy the ball will be pretty much like any other ball in London, though I do by no means intend to demean Lady Metcalf¡¯s hospitality.¡¯


    ¡®Then what are you talking about?¡¯


    ¡®Forgive me.¡¯ He smiled at us in a manner he obviously intended to be mysterious. For most of the inmates of the coach, it actually worked. ¡®I should have expressed myself more clearly. It is not what we are driving towards that is extraordinary, but whom we are driving towards.¡¯


    Now he definitely had Anne¡¯s and Maria¡¯s attention.


    ¡®Are we to understand that there will be a personage of special importance present at the ball tonight?¡¯ Leaning forward even farther, Maria lost no time in asking the central question: ¡®Is it a man?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Miss Maria.¡¯


    The twins¡¯ eyes gleamed, and even Lisbeth¡¯s seemed to flicker. Mine slid shut in desperation. I knew what the next word out of their mouths would be. It started with an ¡®m¡¯. And the one after that with an ¡®o¡¯. And the one after that¡­ hmm¡­ let me think¡­ with an ¡®s¡¯.


    ¡®Married or single?¡¯ Anne demanded.


    I¡¯m good at guessing, aren¡¯t I?


    ¡®Single, I believe.¡¯


    Opening my eyes again, I took a peek. If the twins'' eyes had been shining before, they were ablaze now. They had sniffed prey and were preparing for the hunt.


    ¡®You¡¯re being very coy, Sir Philip,¡¯ Maria accused him, giggling. ¡®You¡¯re giving us answers of one or two syllables.¡¯


    Four or five syllables, actually, Maria, but who¡¯s counting.


    ¡®What is so special about this man?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, tell us! What¡¯s so special about him?¡¯


    Sir Philip raised an eyebrow. ¡®Apart from the fact that he¡¯s just about the richest man in the city of London?¡¯


    My eyes, which had just been about to close again, flew wide open. My heartbeat picked up and so did my breathing. Good God in heaven! The last person of whom I had heard that said¡­ no, that couldn¡¯t be! He couldn¡¯t be at a ball, could he? What would he be doing at a ball? He¡¯d told me himself he hated any and every kind of social event!


    Anne¡¯s and Maria¡¯s eyes were blazing like bonfires now. ¡®And his name? His manner? His looks?¡¯


    Sir Philip shook his head with a smile.


    ¡®No, Ladies. You will not be getting any more information out of me. It wouldn¡¯t do any good. He has to be seen to be believed.¡¯


    Oh my God, it¡¯s him! I know it! It¡¯s him!


    Dear Lord, no! I was going to meet him? In a dress? With my family there, and people laughing and dancing everywhere? What the bloody hell was I going to say? What was I going to do? And most important of all, where would I hide?


    Twice Surprised


    By the time we arrived at Lady Metcalf''s, I was a nervous wreck. And I didn¡¯t mean some figurative-speech kind of wreck. I meant an old Spanish galleon with broken masts, a rotting hull and missing canons - and possibly with the rotting skeleton of the captain in the master cabin.


    Blast, blast, blast! What am I going to do? Lord help me, what am I going to do?


    The coach crunched to a halt on the gravel outside Lady Metcalf¡¯s residence, and Wilkins leaned over to my little sister with a look in his eyes as though he¡¯d just been hit over the head with a heavy cudgel. Or maybe he was in love.


    ¡®You look so beautiful tonight, Miss Ella.¡¯


    ¡®Um¡­ thank you, Sir Philip. You are too kind.¡¯


    ¡®No, I tell you nothing but the truth. And to further enhance your beauty, I wondered if you would do me the honour of wearing this in your hair tonight?¡¯


    He pulled a single white rose from behind his back. Ella paled. I could see what was going on in her head as clearly as though she had told me herself: she had accepted his attentions, even his gifts, because it was what courtesy demanded. But openly wearing a sign of his affection and thus accepting it? I could tell something in her was screaming that it would be a betrayal of Edmund, her love.


    Silly, of course. It wasn¡¯t a betrayal - it was only a ruddy flower! But there it was.


    ¡®I¡­ feel honoured-¡¯ she began haltingly.


    ¡®But then,¡¯ Sir Philip interrupted her, ¡®I reconsidered. I thought that maybe this flower would fit the colour of your hair better!¡¯ And letting go of the white rose, he pulled out a sunflower as big as my palm. Ella¡¯s eyes widened.


    ¡®And then, Miss Ella, I again thought, no. Nobody would see it. We need contrast to show off your beauty in the best light, it is what you deserve. So I brought this.¡¯ And he pulled out a red rose. With an uncertain smile, he looked at Ella. ¡®I simply cannot choose; they are all so beautiful! Could you perhaps pick one for me? Or maybe just wear them all? That would be the simplest solution. We could put the sunflower here, and the roses-¡¯

 Page 89

    I had heard enough.


    ¡®My sister is a lady and not a flower-arrangement,¡¯ I cut him off briskly. ¡®You forget, Sir, that she has to dance, and those beautiful flowers might fall out of her hair and get trampled underfoot. We wouldn¡¯t want that, now, would we?¡¯


    ¡®Oh¡­ oh, I suppose you¡¯re right.¡¯ The knight looked crestfallen, like a little puppy that had been denied his stick to play with, and for a moment I almost felt something like pity. Then he perked up. ¡®But she could always wear them after the dance, or maybe¡­¡¯


    I pulled Ella out of the carriage before he could finish the sentence. The others were already out there, enjoying the attentions of servants who were bowing, taking coats and opening doors, something which in our house happened very seldom.


    ¡®Quickly, quickly, take my coat!¡¯


    ¡®You there! Open the door!¡¯


    I sighed, trying to shut out my twin sisters¡¯ voices. At home, if you wanted to wait until Leadfield had opened a door for you, you¡¯d probably die of old age, and if you wanted him to take your coat, he¡¯d collapse under the weight. So this was a very welcome change, especially for Anne and Maria.


    The swarm of buzzing servants escorted us to the ball room, where Lady Metcalf was already awaiting us. I looked around anxiously. But the lean, dark figure I feared to see was nowhere in sight. Just Lady Metcalf.


    ¡®Ah! Mrs Brank! Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton and Miss Linton! Thank you very much for coming. I am delighted that you could make it.¡¯


    I must say, I was impressed. Lady Metcalf¡¯s smile was even more fake than mine, and she lied like a professional politician. But then, her father had been Foreign Secretary, so maybe it ran in the family.


    ¡®Lady Metcalf,¡¯ my aunt trilled. ¡®I was so excited when we received your invitation. It was very nice of you, considering you have never before deigned to include us in one of your festivities.¡¯


    Ouch! I could see where this was leading. Poisonous fumes already hung heavily in the air between the two older ladies.


    ¡®I simply could not resist,¡¯ Lady Metcalf purred. ¡®Sir Philip was so¡­ enthusiastic. And I simply had to invite the young lady who has been so fortunate as to attract the affection of one of London¡¯s finest young men, despite her¡­ err¡­ regrettable social position.¡¯


    If looks could kill, Lady Metcalf would have been a red blot on the wall right then, and my aunt would be hauled off to Codbath Fields Prison faster than you could say Jack Robinson. Unluckily, though, looks couldn¡¯t kill, and my aunt remained a free woman.


    ¡®Remember,¡¯ she hissed at me while curtsying to Lady Metcalf. ¡®Behave yourself!¡¯


    This was going to be a very long night. And he would be there!


    The young man approached me with vigour in his step. He wore a bright waistcoat, a carnation in his buttonhole, and a bright, confident smile on his handsome face. I disliked him immediately.


    ¡®Miss Linton?¡¯ He bowed deeply. ¡®Will you do me the honour of granting me your hand for this dance?¡¯


    I smiled back at him one hundred times as brightly. ¡®Why certainly! How could I refuse to dance with you, Sir?¡¯


    Now if I could only remember your name, so I could put you on my list of murder victims¡­


    ¡®Thank you, Miss.¡¯


    Stretching out his fingers, he clasped them around mine. Blast! I knew I had agreed to dance with him, but did that mean he actually had to touch me? Working hard to keep my fake smile on my face, I let myself be led onto the dance floor. From the edge of the crowd I could see Anne and Maria ogling me with incredulity. I smiled at them, too. Tonight was smiley night! Argh!


    As the first notes of the quadrille[36] began, the young man put his arms around me and began to shove me across the dance floor. I believe officially it is called steering, but that word implies that the steerer actually knows what he is doing, whereas my dancing partner evidently did not.


    ¡®Enjoying the dance?¡¯ he asked me with a cheerful smile.


    ¡®Why yes, of course,¡¯ I replied with an even more cheerfuller smile.


    Curse you! May the furies of hell hound you to pandemonium and back!


    ¡®Me too. What a wonderful ball.¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes. So wonderful.¡¯


    And gouging out your eyes would be great! Yes, they should definitely gouge out your eyes, pickle them and eat them for breakfast!


    I would have dearly loved to grab the bugger by the collar and see how he liked being ''steered'' himself, but my aunt was watching. So I smiled until my face hurt and only contrived to step on my partner¡¯s feet now and again. Finally I had discovered an advantage of hoop skirts: nobody could see what my heels were doing. Not even my aunt.


    I danced with partner after partner. Most of them were actually quite good dancers, and those who were, went away with their feet still intact and an annoyingly good opinion of yours truly. In passing, I heard somebody say: ¡®¡­ and that Lilly Linton¡­ such a nice, quiet, charming girl. Always smiling so brightly, it really lights up the evening. And so very¡­¡¯


    Mercifully, I was swept away by my partner then, so I didn¡¯t have to hear any more of my false accomplishments. Nevertheless, I knew that my aunt had been right. If I just said, ¡®Yes, Sir, of course, Sir,¡¯ to every question asked and smiled prettily, gentlemen who before would have been running in the opposite direction at the sight of me were suddenly delighted with this blasted charming new Lilly. It made me want find an umbrella stand in which to vomit.


    All this play-acting took considerable concentration. Not enough, though, to make me forget about the special guest to whom Wilkins had promised to introduce us tonight. Continuously, my eyes scanned the ballroom for any sign of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. They never found any. My anxiety grew with every minute.


    What¡¯s the matter? Why isn¡¯t he here? Or¡­ maybe he is here! Maybe he is watching me, gazing coldly at my dress, my fan and any other articles that screamed ¡®female!¡¯, getting more determined to get rid of the girl in his office with every passing minute!


    From the moment the idea first entered my mind, I felt an itch on the back of my head as though he was standing behind me, his cold gaze drilling into the back of my head - which of course was a load of cobblers because I was dancing the quadrille, ergo twirling continuously around the room, seeing everything.


    Blast! He can¡¯t be here! And he certainly can¡¯t be watching me from behind if I¡¯m always pirouetting!

 Page 90

    Still, I fretted through three dances over Mr Rikkard bloody Ambrose! Only when I caught sight of Wilkins and Ella dancing a few paces away did I remember that I had other worries tonight as well. Remorse shot through me. For the moment, I had completely forgotten about protecting my little sister from Wilkins'' overdone attentions.


    Well, if I wasn¡¯t going to saw a hole in the ballroom floor through which Wilkins could be disposed of, I couldn¡¯t do anything while they were dancing. Afterwards, I swore to myself, I would become the most steadfast buffer in the history of womankind.


    But my kind sisterly plans were cruelly dashed. By the time the dance had finished and I had manage to disentangle myself from my partner and rush to my sister¡¯s side, the evil flower-presenter was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡®Where¡¯s Sir Philip?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®I don''t know.¡¯ Closing her eyes, Ella sighed and leaned against my shoulder. I let her. I had originally come to serve as a sisterly buffer, but I might just as well be of use as a support column. ¡®Somebody told him something, and he excused himself. Honestly, I don''t care. I only care that he¡¯s gone for the moment. Oh Lill!¡¯


    Her eyes fluttered open again, and I saw moisture glinting in there as she looked up at me imploringly. ¡®What should I do? What in God¡¯s name should I do?¡¯


    I was about to answer her (and a very clever answer it would have been!) when Sir Philip appeared out of the multitude around us, an eager smile on his face. I noticed that the sunflower he had brought along for Ella was sticking out of his buttonhole, rather clashing with his green and red waistcoat.


    ¡®My dear Miss Ella¡­ oh, Miss Lilian, you¡¯re here, too? How wonderful! Where¡¯s the rest of your family? Ah, there!¡¯


    He waved them over eagerly, and they came, interested to see what he was so excited about. I was starting to have an idea and felt a dark pit of dread opening up in my stomach.


    ¡®What¡¯s the matter, Sir Philip?¡¯ Maria asked, breathless - maybe a bit more breathless than absolutely necessary. ¡®Is something wrong?¡¯


    ¡®On the contrary, my dear, something is right.¡¯ He beamed at all of us. ¡®Remember that I told you of this special guest who would be here tonight?¡¯


    They all nodded. The black pit in my stomach grew by leaps and bounds. My knees wobbled.


    ¡®Yes, of course we remember.¡¯ Anne¡¯s eyes had become very large. ¡®You don''t mean¡­¡¯


    ¡®¡­He¡¯s here!¡¯ Sir Philip triumphantly finished. ¡®I have just bumped into him. I¡¯ve known him for some years, and I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll sacrifice a few minutes of his valuable time for my sake. Ladies, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to one of the most wealthy and eminent personages of the British Empire.¡¯


    I cleared my throat. ¡®Um¡­ do you really think we should waste the valuable time of such a man?¡¯ Cautiously, I started edging backwards. Maria threw me a venomous look. Apparently, she was already determined to conquer the heart of this mighty, mysterious man.


    Oh my dear sister, if you only knew¡­


    ¡®I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be delighted to meet all of you. Come, come.¡¯ Without further ado, Wilkins took me and Ella by the hand and started leading us towards the windowed front of the ballroom. In his boundless enthusiasm he didn¡¯t even notice that I was digging my heels into the ground and he more or less had to drag me across the ballroom.


    Bloody hell! Let go of me! I don¡¯t want to see him! I can¡¯t! Not in a dress! He¡¯ll¡­ Blast, I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s going to do, but he¡¯s going to do something!


    But for a weedy man with a flower fixation, Sir Philip was surprisingly strong. In spite of my resistance, I was towed forward.


    Others were not so reluctant. Lisbeth, Anne and Maria were giggling and whispering with each other, hard on our heels. Even Ella and Gertrude displayed a modicum of excitement. And as for my aunt¡­ she was practically bursting! Golden coins were shining in her eyes instead of pupils.


    ¡®Please, Sir Philip¡­¡¯ I tried to wrest my hand from his grip. ¡®I would feel embarrassed, meeting such a great man.¡¯


    ¡®Nonsense. Whyever would you?¡¯


    Because unlike you, I know what he keeps chained up in his cellar!


    ¡®Because¡­ because I am a very modest person, that¡¯s why! And very shy!¡¯


    Turning her head towards me, Ella gave me a look of pure incredulity. She almost forgot to look where she was going and stumbled over the hem of her own dress. I suppose I couldn¡¯t blame her. She was my sister, after all, and knew me well.


    ¡®Oh, if that¡¯s the only reason, you do not need to worry,¡¯ Sir Philip assured me. ¡®My friend¡¯s manners are perfectly unassuming and charming.¡¯


    What?


    I was so surprised by that description that I actually stopped struggling for a moment, and my knightly tugboat was able to drag me the rest of the way.


    We arrived at a tightly-packed group of individuals. Mostly they were men - the most expensively dressed men I had ever seen, in midnight-black tailcoats and brilliant waistcoats with golden embroidery. They were centred around somebody we couldn¡¯t see, all talking excitedly.


    For one last time I tugged at my hand, desperately trying to get away. But that blasted Wilkins held my hand firmly. There was no escape.


    Wilkins tapped the shoulder of one of the men who were barring the way.


    ¡®Would you be so kind as to step aside for a moment, please?¡¯


    No! Don¡¯t be kind! Be mean! Be rude, please! Be bloody impertinent and stay where you are!


    ¡®I would like to introduce these ladies to my honoured friend.¡¯


    No! Bloody hell, no!


    In spite of my internal pleading, the men in front of us parted. Out from between them stepped another man. I blinked in surprise. He was lean and he was tall, just like Mr Ambrose - but there was no way this man could be mistaken for my employer. He had longish blonde hair that was combed back in elegant waves, a slightly curvy, hawk-like nose and light, steel-blue eyes.


    Even if all this could have been faked and underneath that inviting exterior somewhere lurked the brooding self I had suspected to find here, there was one characteristic which definitely identified this man as somebody other than Mr Ambrose: he had a broad, inviting smile on his face.


    ¡®Ah, good evening, Wilkins. What a pleasure to see you again.¡¯ The blonde man bowed to Ella¡¯s admirer, who in turn bowed back. ¡®And who, if I may ask, are these lovely ladies you have brought with you?¡¯

 Page 91

    His voice, too, was nothing like Mr Ambrose''s. It sounded smooth and eloquent, like a public speaker who could move whole crowds, or maybe a young, dashing general who by his voice alone could persuade men to follow him into battle. For some reason I felt a blush creep up my cheeks.


    ¡®Of course, where are my manners?¡¯ Wilkins let go of my hand so he could point us out in turn. ¡®Lord Dalgliesh, may I present Mrs Brank, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton and Miss Linton. Ladies, this is Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.¡¯


    He bowed to each of us in turn, slowly and elegantly.


    ¡®I am charmed. Who knew that such bewitching company would await me at this ball.¡¯


    It hadn¡¯t escaped my notice that Wilkins had introduced us to him and not the other way around. Normally, men were introduced to women. For it to be done in reverse, the man must be presumed to be ten times more important than any woman.


    With any ordinary man, this would have sent me into a fit of rage. Yet as Lord Dalgliesh bowed to me and for a moment I met his steel-blue gaze, I knew without doubt that this was no ordinary man.


    There was an aura about him, a presence that bespoke greatness. I felt as though those steel-blue eyes could analyse every bone in my body and gaze into the darkest recesses of my soul. Which was complete bilge, of course. My soul didn¡¯t have any dark recesses! Did it?


    I was ripped from the contemplation of my soul by my loving sister Maria, who shoved me out of the way to be closer to her target.


    ¡®It is I who am charmed to meet you, My Lord. Tell me how it is that, though I have been a frequent visitor to many balls in the city, I have never yet had the pleasure of making your acquaintance? Such a great lord as yourself should surely be the life and soul of every ball.¡¯


    Bravo, Maria, bravo! I really had to admire her. She had flattered him, depicted herself as a worthy object of his undying love, fished for information, and flattered him again, and that all in one sentence. She really knew how to catch her fish. Only I had a suspicion this one would prove to be a little bit too big for her nets.


    Lord Dalgliesh gave a light, pleasant laugh. ¡®The matter is susceptible of a ready explanation, Miss Linton. I assure you that I am no recluse or social outcast. In fact, I have been away from the metropolis, even from Britain, for a long time now, looking after various matters in the colonies.¡¯ He shrugged apologetically and smiled a smile so charming, it could maybe even have charmed a fairy queen. ¡®It was very unfortunate, considering what I was missing here.¡¯


    My sister wasn¡¯t a fairy queen. She didn¡¯t have a hope.


    ¡®Oh, Lord Dalgliesh,¡¯ was all she managed to whisper.


    ¡®What brought you back?¡¯ Sir Philip wanted to know. ¡®I would have thought you had enough out there to keep you busy for a lifetime.¡¯


    Seeing our questioning looks, he added with a smile, ¡®Lord Dalgliesh is the main shareholder of the East India Company.¡¯


    Maria¡¯s eyes lit up. If she hadn¡¯t been determined to grab this man for herself before, she was now. Anne seemed to experience similar feelings. I must say, I was pretty floored myself.


    The East India Company¡­ Did such a conglomerate even deserve to be referred to as only a ''company'', when it owned and ruled most of the Indian subcontinent, along with its own army and state apparatus? If this man truly was in charge of the East India Company, he was as close to a king as you could get without actually wearing a crown.


    ¡®What brought you back?¡¯ Sir Philip repeated the question.


    For a moment, just a moment, the smile on Lord Dalgliesh¡¯s face flickered. It looked almost like what had happened to me not too long ago. But that was hardly likely, was it? What reason could Lord Dalgliesh have for only pretending to smile?


    ¡®Oh, no great matter,¡¯ he said, smoothly. ¡®Just a little unfinished business with an old friend. There¡¯s a game of chess we need to finish.¡¯


    I frowned.


    ¡®You came to England, travelled thousands of miles¡­ just to finish a game of chess?¡¯


    Turning his head towards me, he cranked his smile up a notch. But his steel-blue eyes didn¡¯t lose their cool, assessing look. Blimey, he was faking! A darn sight more convincingly than I, but he was faking.


    ¡®In a manner of speaking,¡¯ he said, nodding. ¡®Though we may use no actual board or figures made from wood.¡¯


    My frown deepened. ¡®You¡¯ve lost me, Your Lordship.¡¯


    ¡®Do not worry. I can always find you again.¡¯


    He turned his head and started a light, flirtatious conversation with Anne, who leapt at the chance of overtaking her sister. I just stood there, shaking my head. This man was¡­ disturbing. As soon as I could manage without seeming offensive, I excused myself. I wanted to get away from him. He was a darn sight too fascinating for me to want to be anywhere near him. I wanted to be alone - maybe find a quiet refreshment table and a chocolate bar. Gripping Ella by the hand, I started to tug her away with me.


    ¡®Come!¡¯ I whispered. ¡®It¡¯s time we made ourselves scarce!¡¯


    She threw me a grateful look and let herself be dragged away. On her own, she would never have had the nerve to run from that bloody Wilkins. But being forcibly carried off by her sister, that she could manage all right.


    ¡®Can you see where the refreshment tables are?¡¯


    Standing on my toes, I tried to determine a safe route through the jungle of people in evening wear barring our way. But it was no good. As soon as we detached ourselves from one group, we were swallowed up by another and welcomed with friendly voices.


    Blast! It had all been so much easier when I had been impolite to everybody and scowled instead of smiled. Back then, nobody had given me a second glance.


    Oh well, the good old days¡­


    ¡®Miss Linton! And another Miss Linton,¡¯ a gentleman with a huge waxed moustache greeted us. I couldn¡¯t for the life of me remember his name. ¡®Hello and welcome. Join our little group.¡¯


    ¡®Oh no,¡¯ said another gentleman. ¡®I¡¯m sure ladies wouldn¡¯t like to listen to our topic of conversation.¡¯


    ¡®Nonsense,¡¯ Gentleman A overrode him. ¡®These are no modern, unladylike females. I danced with this young lady,¡¯ he inclined his head towards me, ¡®myself, and she was a model of charm and modesty.¡¯


    How nice of you. And you were the model of arrogance and idiocy.


    ¡®Why, thank you, Sir,¡¯ I said, curtsying. ¡®If I may ask, what is it that you were talking of before we came?¡¯

 Page 92

    Gentleman A leaned closer, and so did his companion. ¡®Now, I normally wouldn¡¯t be mentioning this in the hearing of any ladies. But I can see you two are sensible, demure and well-bred young girls. So it¡¯s all right.¡¯


    I must admit, he had peaked my interest. I was always interested to know what a person like me wasn¡¯t supposed to know.


    ¡®Go on,¡¯ I encouraged.


    ¡®Do you know what is going to happen next Wednesday?¡¯ Gentleman A whispered.


    ¡®No. What, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®There¡¯s going to be a meeting about this confounded nonsense called women¡¯s suffrage.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®Aye. A few influential gentlemen with press contacts are going to meet with sympathetic scholars and scientists at Speaker¡¯s Corner in Hyde Park, and try to put a stop to this codswallop once and for all.¡¯


    ¡®Indeed?¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes.¡¯ Gentleman B nodded gravely. ¡®Imagine, ladies, that there are actually mad creatures that call themselves women and want to make decisions in politics!¡¯


    I shook my head solemnly. ¡®You are joking? Can such individuals really exist?¡¯


    Ella stared at me, her eyes wide. Then she blinked and quickly turned back to the men. ¡®As for my part,¡¯ she ventured demurely, ¡®I find politics incredibly complicated. I am very glad that I do not have to deal with them.¡¯


    Gentleman B nodded energetically and smiled at Ella. ¡®Exactly! That is exactly what I was talking about. I can see you are sensible young girls who know their God-given place in the world, just as my friend said. So, no word about this to anyone, hmm?¡¯ He gave us what was supposed to be a fatherly smile. ¡®It will remain our little secret.¡¯


    I smiled at him brightly ¡®You mean it would be bad if somebody found out about it?¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes.¡¯ Gentleman B gave a vigorous nod. ¡®If those infernal suffragists found out, they could use the meeting to spread their insane message.¡¯


    ¡®Ah, I see. Well, every sensible person can see that such a thing must never happen.¡¯


    ¡®Exactly,¡¯ Gentleman A entered the conversation again. ¡®Women¡¯s brains aren¡¯t big enough for politics.¡¯


    ¡®Plus,¡¯ added Gentleman B, ¡®they do not have the potential for violence that men have, and that is the basis for all stable political systems, a fact that I have pointed out to Parliament on numerous occasions.¡¯


    My eyes flicked to Gentleman B.


    ¡®So it was you who came up with that idea, was it?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, indeed.¡¯ He nodded proudly. ¡®Why, have you heard of my theories on female vulnerability?¡¯


    ¡®You could say that¡­¡¯ My eyes narrowed infinitesimally. He didn¡¯t notice. ¡®I wonder, Sir, if you would mind stepping into this side-room with me for five minutes. I have something important to demonstrate to you in regard to your theories.¡¯


    ¡®By all means. After you, Miss.¡¯


    Five minutes later, I re-entered the ballroom, my hair a bit ruffled, but otherwise perfectly fine. Ella was waiting for me.


    ¡®Where is the gentleman who went with you?¡¯ she asked.


    ¡®He experienced a sudden desire to leave through the back door.¡¯ I gestured to the side-room from which I had just emerged, a smile turning up one corner of my mouth. ¡®I believe something in there might have scared him a little.¡¯


    My smile widened. All that was missing now was a feast for the victorious warrior! Not far away, I spotted a refreshment table with something brown on it that might be chocolate. Yum!


    ¡®Come,¡¯ I said, grasping Ella by the hand. ¡®We could¡­¡¯


    ¡®Miss Linton? Miss Lilly Linton?¡¯


    I turned and stiffened. In front of me was standing none other than Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, smiling at me as if I were another continent to be added to his empire.


    ¡®It is Miss Lilly, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ The charm-factor of his smile went up another level or two. ¡®I¡¯m afraid I might have confused all these lovely Lintons.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, um¡­ yes,¡¯ I muttered. ¡®My name is Lilly.¡¯


    ¡®Very well, Miss Lilly. Would you do me the honour of granting me the next dance?¡¯


    You could have struck me down with a feather. A piece of fluff would probably have sufficed as a cudgel, too. I stood there, mute, staring up at him.


    ¡®Lill? Lill!¡¯


    Somebody was tugging on my arm and whispering in my ear. ¡®Lill, answer him! For goodness'' sake, please answer him!¡¯


    Who¡­ oh yes. Ella. That was my sister¡¯s name, wasn¡¯t it? Lord Dalgliesh. Dancing. Hell¡¯s whiskers! Had he just really asked me to dance with him? The owner of an entire continent wanted to dance with me? Something was wonky in this world!


    From somewhere I heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like my own say: ¡®Certainly, Lord Dalgliesh. I would love to dance with you.¡¯


    A hand grasped mine. It was firm but smooth. The skin of an aristocrat who had never done manual labour. As if in a dream, or maybe a nightmare, Lord Dalgliesh led me onto the dance floor with small, elegant steps.


    I heard it around us: voices hushing, then whispering, the clatter of my aunt¡¯s jaw as it hit the floor. But I didn¡¯t see any of it. I only saw my own feet, and thought: In half a minute, those will have to start dancing.


    Then the music started. Lord Dalgliesh gripped my hand, and suddenly we were whirling around each other with unearthly grace. He was tugging on my hand, throwing me this way and that, too fast for me to do anything about it.


    Ha! I had thought the other men on the dance floor tried to lead when dancing? I had known nothing. This was real leading. Not pushing me forward, but pulling me into following him with masterful moves. I was powerless to resist. Part of me didn¡¯t even want to.


    We went through the forms of the dance, stepping away from each other, marching down the line of dancers. He passed out of my sight. But in passing, I saw the look in his eyes as he gazed at me. In that look was something I hadn¡¯t seen in the face of this paragon of power: curiosity.


    At the end of the line I turned, facing him again. Normally, I went down the line slowly. I was a careful dancer. But he rushed towards me, so I had to follow. Grasping me by my arm, he whirled me around once again.


    I met his curious gaze.


    ¡®Why did you ask me to dance with you, Lord Dalgliesh?¡¯


    The question, uttered low but distinctly, was out of my mouth before I knew I had opened it. Some central, unchangeable, nosy part of me must have shoved it past my teeth in spite of the mesmerizing effects of his presence. It was good to know I was still myself somewhere in there.

 Page 93

    We danced another turn.


    ¡®Why on earth should I have a special reason?¡¯ he enquired as we passed again. ¡®Is not the pleasure of your company enough?¡¯


    ¡®Not really, no.¡¯ And he actually gave a little laugh. It rang like bells, pleasant to the ear.


    ¡®You do not think much of yourself?¡¯


    It¡¯s not that. It¡¯s just that I think you think a lot more of yourself than you do of me.


    ¡®Oh please.¡¯ I looked down, demurely. Tonight was play-acting night, after all. ¡®I am only a simple gentry[37] girl, not such an exalted personage such as yourself, My Lord.¡¯


    He flashed his brilliant smile again and began pelting me with a hundred little compliments, all perfectly arranged to melt the heart of any maiden. The compliments themselves did not get to me. The skill which with they were delivered, on the other hand, did.


    What does this bloody fellow want with me? He could have dozens of women mooning at his feet!


    Of course, there was always the possibility that he had fallen madly in love with me at first sight. But that was the kind of thing Ella might have believed, not I. And even if he had, he¡¯d better fall out of love again right speedily!


    Slowly, the flow of niceties ebbed. We continued to dance, and I had to admit he was an excellent dancer. Lord Dalgliesh led in a way that made me not even feel I was being led: it was effortless, graceful, and enthralling. And that was exactly why I hated it. He didn¡¯t make me feel like being led - but in fact I was, very skilfully. And I didn¡¯t take kindly to people trying to fool me.


    Oh really? a tiny voice inside me asked. Not even when it¡¯s done as magnificently as this?


    Finally, after three more turns and several more compliments, he got to the point. As we passed each other, he whispered:


    ¡®I must make a confession, Miss Linton.¡¯


    ¡®Oh?¡¯


    He turned on the spot in a perfect pirouette. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me towards him, past him, and launched me into the movement alongside the other ladies. When I returned, he said in a low voice:


    ¡®Yes. I did have a motive to dance with you, other than your charms. Although I assure you,¡¯ he added, smiling again, ¡®that no other motive would have been needed.¡¯


    I faked a smile back at him. Now we were talking business! ¡®But there was one?¡¯


    Taking hold of my arm, he led me into another smooth turn.


    ¡®Yes. I was curious. When we first met, you looked at me rather strangely. As if you expected to see somebody else. I am used to how people react around me, and your reaction was startlingly different. So, as I said, I am curious. What was going through your mind when you saw me?¡¯


    Hm¡­ How about ¡®Thank God, it¡¯s not him!¡¯?


    I hesitated. But I had already fulfilled my quota of lies for the day. And anyway, why shouldn¡¯t he know?


    Fixing my gaze on his mesmerizing steel-blue eyes as the ballroom turned around us in a blur, I said:


    ¡®Sir Philip hinted to us that we were going to meet a person of great importance at the ball. From what he said¡­I was expecting somebody else.¡¯


    ¡®Oh?¡¯ One of his brows rose in interest. ¡®Whom, if I may ask?¡¯


    I opened my mouth to speak.


    At that precise moment, three heavy, loud knocks came from the large door leading into the ballroom. The music stopped. The dancers stopped. Everything stopped. I nearly stumbled over Lord Dalgliesh¡¯s feet, and only grabbing onto his shoulder kept me from falling. Quickly, I steadied myself again, letting go of his shoulder.


    I looked around. I could see the same question on every face: Who on earth would be daring, impatient, bad-mannered and arrogant enough to interrupt a ball in the middle of a dance?


    Oh no¡­


    The doors swung open and, as I knew he would, in strode Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his face harder and more stunning than ever.


    Everybody stared at him as he stood there, facing the motionless dancers. Everybody except me, that is. I was too busy staring at the tall, ravishingly beautiful woman who had entered the room on his arm.


    Duelling on the Dance Floor


    She was slim and fair with delicately curved lips, deep green eyes, and black hair that tumbled in rich curls down her back. She held herself regally, and it was clear that, unlike me, she felt perfectly at home in a ballroom. Her luxurious green and black ball gown, perfectly complementing her eyes and hair, fell down in elaborate folds over an elegantly sweeping crinoline. In short, she was very beautiful, and obviously knew just how to accentuate that beauty to attract a man¡¯s attention.


    I hated her at first sight.


    Well, what do you expect? I am a proud fighter for women¡¯s rights and independence. Of course I instantly despised somebody who conformed so absolutely to the female stereotype of the damsel in distress that I was trying to fight.


    You despise her for being unfeminist, do you?


    Yes, of course I did.


    And the two hundred and fifty other women in the room, who are just the same kind of unfeminist, lily-livered cowards? You don¡¯t despise them, do you?


    Well¡­


    Might the intense loathing that you feel specifically for her have something to do with the fact that she is clinging to Mr Ambrose¡¯s arm like a limpet?


    Sometimes I really wished that inner voice of mine would shut up!


    My eyes flicked from her to Mr Ambrose and back again. Could he¡­ could they be¡­? No. They couldn¡¯t be, could they?


    Mr Ambrose strode over to Lady Metcalf, who stood at the edge of the crowd, gaping at him in a rather unladylike manner. In this, I noticed, she was mimicked by almost every female in the room. Blast! Why did that annoy me so much?


    He made a quick, curt bow.


    ¡®Please forgive this intrusion, My Lady. I changed my mind about not accepting your most recent invitation. I hope I¡¯m not too late and that the ball hasn''t already started?¡¯


    Since the floor full of frozen dancers around him made it quite blatantly obvious that the dance had indeed started, this remark was rather redundant. It was also as impolite as one could get. Colour rose to Lady Metcalf¡¯s cheeks. Her mouth closed. And opened. And closed again.


    Was she thinking of letting her servants chase him out with hunting crops? That¡¯s what she would have done if I or anyone else had pulled off something like this. But Mr Rikkard Ambrose wasn¡¯t just anyone.


    ¡®N-no, of course not, Mr Ambrose.¡¯


    My mouth dropped open. The voice coming out of Lady Metcalf¡¯s mouth wasn¡¯t the usual vulture¡¯s croak. It was soft, uncertain, almost demure. Under Mr Ambrose¡¯s cold gaze, she lowered her eyes.

 Page 94

    Good God! Is she possessed or something?


    ¡®Of course we haven¡¯t started yet, Mr Ambrose. You¡¯ve come just at the right time. May I introduce you to my family?¡¯


    ¡®You may,¡¯ Mr Ambrose granted with infinite generosity.


    The raven-haired beauty stepped up beside him.


    No¡­ not raven-haired. Crow-haired! She¡¯s a crow! She¡¯s just the sort to pick at rotting carcasses. She¡¯s probably just waiting to sink her beak into Mr Ambrose.


    She smiled. And it was an artificial smile that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. I knew it! I knew she couldn¡¯t be trusted. You could never trust females - they were so bloody conniving! Apart from unfortunate young secretaries and other kinds of feminists, of course.


    She directed her smile at him, and he, although he didn¡¯t smile, nodded graciously. More graciously than he had ever nodded at me.


    A thousand questions buzzed through my head. Who was she? Why was she here? Why had he brought her? Was she rich? Was he in love with her? Were they engaged? And most important of all, why the blazes were all of my questions about her?


    I forced my eyes back to Mr Ambrose. It was him I should be concerned about.


    Should be.


    But wasn¡¯t.


    I was concerned about her. Or, more specifically, her and him in combination.


    My eyes snapped back to her. Heat welled up inside me. The heat of some dark unnamed emotion. Was it possible to want to claw a stranger¡¯s eyes out? Well, people said there was such a thing as love at first sight. Why not hate at first sight, then?


    ¡®Um, Miss Linton? My hand, if you please?¡¯


    Blinking in surprise, so suddenly ripped from my thoughts, I looked up at Lord Dalgliesh, then down at his hand, which I was clenching so tightly that it was white from lack of blood. I let go as if I had burned myself. ¡®Oh, excuse me!¡¯


    ¡®No matter,¡¯ he said, took his other hand off my arm and stepped back from me. His attention seemed to be on something else. He was looking towards the two newcomers.


    Well, if he wasn¡¯t interested in me any longer, all the better. Quickly, I stepped back and ducked into the crowd.


    Just in time: Mr Ambrose had spotted Lord Dalgliesh.


    There was a moment suspended in time. The two men¡¯s eyes met, and it was as if they were two lions meeting at a Sahara watering hole. They were the kings, the rest of us were just so many zebras and antelopes.


    Mr Ambrose prowled forward. Lord Dalgliesh, ignoring Lady Metcalf, who was still trying to engage the newcomers¡¯ attention, shook out his mane of golden hair and started to advance as well. People in their way stood aside hastily, as if they felt the tension in the air. I certainly did.


    Finally, they stood facing each other. I watched from behind the shoulder of a bulky military gentleman who didn¡¯t realise he was being used as cover.


    The two of them stared at one another, waiting for the other to bow first. After seemingly endless seconds, they both inclined their heads about half an inch, at the same instant.


    ¡®Lord Dalgliesh,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said.


    ¡®Lord Ambrose,¡¯ Lord Dalgliesh said.


    A shiver went down my back? Lord Ambrose? What the¡­!


    ¡®Mister Ambrose, your Lordship.¡¯ Mr Ambrose¡¯s tone was arctic, but Lord Dalgliesh didn¡¯t flinch. He just smiled a friendly smile. A fake friendly smile. ¡®Of course. My mistake.¡¯


    There was a spell of silence so intense it pressed against my eardrums.


    ¡®It has been long,¡¯ Mr Ambrose said.


    ¡®Yes, it has,¡¯ Lord Dalgliesh said. ¡®Quite some time since last we met.¡¯


    The air between them seemed to crackle. Lord Dalgliesh started to say something else, but I didn¡¯t catch it because at that very moment the evil crow descended on Mr Ambrose, grabbing his arm again.


    ¡®Come, my dear Rikkard,¡¯ she said with the broadest of smiles. ¡®I wish to dance a reel or two.¡¯


    Rikkard? Rikkard? She was allowed to call him by his first name? Who was this creature? The writer of the pink letters?


    Well, if so, he seemed to pay a lot more attention to her in person than he did to her correspondence. With a last dark look at Lord Dalgliesh, he took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor.


    ¡®What was that?¡¯ I heard some lady whisper beside me. ¡®Between Mr Ambrose and His Lordship, I mean. I¡¯ve seen a lot of important people taking the measure of each other, but that¡­¡¯


    ¡®That was eerie,¡¯ agreed another in whispered tones. I was inclined to agree.


    Lord Dalgliesh still followed Mr Ambrose with his eyes. He had his back turned to me, so I couldn¡¯t see his expression. But I didn¡¯t really want to.


    Then suddenly he turned, again with his charming smile on his face. ¡®Miss Linton,¡¯ he began. ¡®I apologize for the interruption. Shall we finish our¡­¡¯


    His smile flickered and went out when he saw that I was no longer there beside him. I didn¡¯t wait to see what he would do next. By the time the music had started up again, I was already halfway across the room, trying to locate my little sister Ella.


    I had to find Ella! It was essential that I found her again and helped her through the evening as well as I could. It was also essential that I occupied myself with something, anything which could keep my mind off the fact that Mr Rikkard bloody Ambrose was dancing in this bloody ballroom, probably only a few yards away from me, with some bloody female I had never seen in my life!


    I felt like hitting something. Preferably Mr Ambrose. Or her. Oh yes, he could snap at me and even continue to deny the fact that I was a girl, but present him with a girl with long lashes, a demure smile and a pretty dress, and he was suddenly dancing and going to balls and whatnot. Typical man!


    Or is he? whispered that tiny voice inside me. You heard Dalgliesh call him Lord. It¡¯s not every man who has a noble ancestry but chooses to deny the fact. Why do it?


    No matter. Nobleman or common man, he was still a man! Self-centred, arrogant, infuriating!


    I should just ignore his antics the way I had learned to ignore most men¡¯s chauvinist behaviour over the years. But¡­ but¡­ there was this possessive way in which the black-haired girl had linked arms with him. For some reason I could not ignore that.


    I spotted them in the distance, twirling over the dance floor, and a stab of envy shot through me. No, I could not ignore that at all.


    But why?


    Fuming, I whirled around and left in search of Ella.


    Bloody hell, why?

 Page 95

    ¡®There you are!¡¯


    I swooped down on my prey like a hawk on an unsuspecting field mouse. Well, maybe not quite. For one thing, I didn¡¯t grab Sir Philip Wilkins by the neck, but by the hand. For another, I didn¡¯t carry him off to my nest on a distant, rocky crag to devour him, but simply dragged him over to a chair next to the closest refreshment table, away from an exhausted-looking Ella.


    ¡®I have been looking for you,¡¯ I said with a reproachful little smile and more or less forced the lanky, long-nosed lord into a chair beside me. Ella, an expression of sublime relief on her face, dropped into a chair on my other side, out of range of his romantic attentions.


    ¡®All this dancing can be so exhausting, can¡¯t it?¡¯ I asked cheerfully as the first notes for the next dance sounded. ¡®I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been longing for a break.¡¯


    ¡®Well, actually I was rather enjoying-¡¯ Wilkins began, his gaze wandering with dreamy longing between Ella and the dance floor.


    ¡®So terribly exhausting!¡¯ I cut him off. This was the perfect time to test a very handy technique for talking with men I had recently discovered: if they were gentlemen, and a lady intimated there was something she might like them to do, they were usually too polite to refuse. Of course, nobody ever used this technique because it was ruthlessly impolite. But then, nobody had ever accused me of politeness. ¡®I¡¯m sure you would love a little conversation for a change, wouldn¡¯t you?¡¯


    He hesitated. ¡®Um¡­ well, yes, if you think so, but¡­¡¯


    It works! It works, it works!


    ¡®I must admit I found our discussion of your house in town extraordinary,¡¯ I cut him off again with a bright smile. ¡®So exciting, in fact, that I was wondering: Do you have any estates in the country, too?¡¯


    ¡®Well, yes¡­¡¯


    That was all I needed. I let him have it - a full broadside of verbal cannonballs!


    ¡®Wonderful! That is so interesting. How many manors are in your possession? Are they large? Is there good hunting there? Not that I myself hunt, of course, but I find the noise of guns so soothing. Reminds me of good old English traditions, and that an excellent supper will soon be on the table, don''t you know? Do you yourself hunt? Oh, forgive me for even asking! You are a true gentleman, of course you hunt! I¡¯m sure you¡¯re an excellent sportsman, and that is so important in a man, especially an Englishman, since it¡¯s really so central to our national character. I mean, if a German or a Frenchman don''t know how to shoot, that¡¯s all right, they can drink beer or think up poems and philosophy and everybody will say ¡°Here we have a true example of our Nation¡±, but with us English, and the British in general, hunting and sportsmanship are so important. Rather demanding, don''t you think? But then, our nation is the greatest in the world, I suppose that it is allowed to make demands of its subjects. What were we talking of again? Now I forgot. Oh yes, your family estates! I must ask you, do you have a library? For I am very interested in¡­¡¯


    And so I went on, and on, and on, until Wilkins'' eyes became glassy, and Ella had settled into a comfortable nap. Let me tell you, it wasn¡¯t easy to come up with boring subject after boring subject. Dull things to talk of aren¡¯t as common as you might think.


    Why don¡¯t you talk about flowers and greenhouses, or romantic love? He¡¯ll probably be happy to talk to you for hours then!


    I snorted. But that was just it: I didn¡¯t want him to be happy. I wanted him to finally see what a horrible family he intended to marry into, and run away screaming. So far, though, from the looks he gave me, the only result I seemed to be getting for my efforts was that he intended to marry Ella as quickly as possible and remove her to one of these country estates of his, as far away as possible from her deranged sister.


    ¡®Of course,¡¯ I said brightly, ¡®Ella and I are inseparable. Wherever she goes, I go. Isn¡¯t that so, Ella?¡¯


    I elbowed her in the ribs as discreetly as possible. Abruptly awakening from her nap, she mumbled: ¡®What¡­? Oh yes. Inseparable, yes, of course.¡¯


    ¡®I believe that even were one of us to marry,¡¯ I said poignantly, ¡®the other could not survive without her sister. We would always have to be together.¡¯


    Horror washed over Wilkins'' face. Like a drowning man stretching out of the water to grasp a cliff, he jumped from his chair and tapped a passing gentleman in a black tailcoat on the shoulder. In the background, the music of the last dance faded as it came to an end.


    ¡®Excuse me, my friend.¡¯ The words tumbled out of Wilkins'' mouth into the sudden silence. He couldn¡¯t get them out fast enough. ¡®The next dance will be starting soon, and this lady here has held me captive¡­ um, I mean, has had to sit down for several dances, lacking a partner. Would you be so kind as to oblige?¡¯


    ¡®If you wish it, Wilkins,¡¯ said a horribly familiar, cold, curt voice. ¡®You were most obliging in our recent dealings, I owe you a favour.¡¯


    ¡®It is too kind of you to say so,¡¯ Wilkins sighed, relief breaking out all over his face.


    ¡®No. I¡¯m never too kind.¡¯ Turning, Mr Ambrose nodded to Sir Philip. ¡®Now, where is this lady of yours?¡¯


    Then he saw me.


    Slowly his eyes wandered up and down my figure, as if he could not believe what he was seeing. He opened his mouth a fraction of an inch. I swear he was about to make a cutting remark about me wearing no trousers! Then his eyes met mine, and he remembered who and where we were.


    ¡®Ambrose, may I introduce Miss Lilly Linton.¡¯ Wilkins'' voice was a distant buzz in the background, his gestures meaningless. ¡®Miss Lilly Linton, this is Mr Rikkard-¡¯


    ¡®We know each other,¡¯ Mr Ambrose cut him off. His dark eyes didn¡¯t leave my face, boring into me with searing intensity.


    The music had started playing. Around us, people were busy chattering. Nevertheless, in our small portion of the ballroom you could have heard a pin drop.


    ¡®Y-you do?¡¯ Sir Philip looked from me to Mr Ambrose and back again. So did Ella, who was suddenly completely awake again. There was a pause.


    ¡®Where from?¡¯ Wilkins inquired added in a tone of undisguised curiosity and scepticism. As if I didn¡¯t exist on the same level as His Mightiness Mr Rikkard Ambrose!


    Well, I didn¡¯t, monetarily speaking, but still. It was pretty cheeky coming from a chap who went about London bombarding innocent young ladies with flowers!

 Page 96

    ¡®We bumped into one another in the street,¡¯ Mr Ambrose explained, still not taking his eyes off me. His gaze wasn¡¯t just dark and intense, there was something else in it. A promise¡­


    The promise of retribution. That¡¯s what¡¯s in his eyes - a threat! Is he afraid I¡¯d give him away? Shame him in front of London society by revealing I worked for him? Yes, blast him, that¡¯s it!


    Well, he¡¯d just have to learn that I could keep my mouth shut!


    And he¡¯s supposed to dance with me, is he? To hold me lovingly in his arms and sweep me over the polished floor in a passionate whirl?


    To judge by the arctic look on his face, it was obvious that nothing was further from his mind, so I did him a favour. Not acknowledging his presence in any way, not even nodding to him, I rudely turned my head away. Soon enough, the crow in her green dress would probably appear and whisk him off.


    There was a heavy silence. No footsteps. He did not move away. He was not whisked off. Blast him, why didn¡¯t he leave already? My rudeness was giving him the perfect excuse!


    ¡®Well, Miss Linton?¡¯


    Miss! He called you Miss! He admitted you¡¯re female!


    Well, it was rather hard to ignore, considering the ball gown I was wearing. Still, that little admission tugged at my heart - and my head. Reluctantly, I turned it towards him.


    ¡®Well what?¡¯ The retort was abominably rude, but that was all right since it came from me.


    Those dark, sea-coloured eyes of his were still fixed on my face. I made the mistake of looking into them and was caught. Blast!


    He held out his hand for me to take. ¡®Miss Lillian Linton, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?¡¯


    My mouth fell open slightly. Was he joking? But then I remembered who this was. No, he wasn¡¯t joking. Dear Lord in heaven, how was I going to get out of this?


    And then something utterly incredible happened - something more horrible than the Napoleonic Wars and the Black Plague put together.


    ¡®Yes, thank you,¡¯ I heard myself say in a shy, breathy voice.


    What? What the heck was the matter with my vocal cords? How could they betray me like this? It wasn¡¯t fair!


    A hand closed around mine. It was both lithe and muscular, and the grip it exerted was a little too hard for someone asking you for a dance.


    For a dance! Argh, no! Not with him!


    There was a slight tug on my hand. Not harsh, but insistent. Dazed, I started to move and followed Mr Rikkard Ambrose as he led me onto the dance floor. In my stunned state, I still noticed he moved very differently from Lord Dalgliesh: not like a born dancer, but with a harsh, precise force that went beyond dancing. They were the movements of a born fighter. It almost felt like marching beside an elite soldier on a victory parade.


    No! Don¡¯t let this happen! Flee, you fool, before doom is upon you!


    My insides were writhing in panic. But before I could turn and run, before I could do anything, we suddenly were in position on the dance floor, and I felt arms around me. Mr Ambrose¡¯s arms.


    Blast! Why do they have to feel so hard and firm and¡­ right? It¡¯s not right!


    My heartbeat picked up, and I hardly dared to look up. I felt like an elephant who had been ordered to dance with the ringmaster. Would I squash his feet? Would I fall over? And what would happen when this madness was over and we returned to our normal routine of work, if that ever happened?


    The music began. The four-four time lent itself to Mr Ambrose¡¯s way of moving. He went towards and away from me as the music required, grasped me when the music demanded, and let go when the music said so. Not once did he look at me or speak to me.


    We turned. And turned again. And again. And again.


    Blast, this is maddening! Isn¡¯t he going to say anything at all?


    Apparently not. Nobody could be silent like Mr Ambrose. Not even a grave, or a whole graveyard for that matter, could compete with him. And as for looking at me, he didn¡¯t seem to have any intention of doing that either. Oh no. He was staring fixedly at something in the distance. When we turned again, in time with the music, I saw where his gaze led.


    Of course. Her! He is looking at her!


    The crow was standing near a window in the east wall, an infuriating smile on her face, chatting with Lord Dalgliesh, who stood right beside her. Rage, mixed with an infuriating curiosity, rose up in me.


    Who the devil is she? The writer of the pink letters?


    The possibility gripped my heart like a claw of ice. And Mr Ambrose still wasn¡¯t saying a single word! God, the silence was killing me! Somebody would have to say something. And if it wasn¡¯t going to be him, it would have to be me.


    ¡®I thought you didn¡¯t like social functions,¡¯ I blurted out.


    There was a momentary pause.


    ¡®I don''t,¡¯ came his curt reply, finally. Still he was staring into the same darn direction. ¡®But this one was special. I had to come. I needed to spend some time with an old acquaintance whom I had not seen for some time.¡¯


    I sniffed. ¡®So you¡¯ve known the lady long?¡¯


    Is it she? Is it she who wrote you those letters? What did she say? What does she mean to him? And why the heck are you asking yourself that question?


    ¡®The lady?¡¯ His voice was absent and a little confused. He didn¡¯t seem to be paying any attention to me at all. Gritting my teeth, I nodded in her direction.


    ¡®What? Oh, Miss Hamilton?¡¯


    Hamilton. So finally, I had a name to put to the evil temptress! I relaxed infinitesimally as I realized that her name was not that of the writer of the pink letters. However, that relaxation vanished the instant I saw again the way he looked at the crow beside Lord Dalgliesh: so intently you might have thought there existed nothing else in the world for him but her.


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ I nodded. ¡®Miss Hamilton. You¡¯ve known her long?¡¯


    He actually deigned to glance down at me then. If his face hadn¡¯t been carved from stone, I was sure there would have been a frown on it. His eyes narrowed a fraction. ¡®No. Whatever gave you that idea? I¡¯ve only known her for a couple of days.¡¯


    Why the heck did you call her an old acquaintance then?


    ¡®Well, she must have made quite an impression on you.¡¯ Considering you came out of your fortress for her sake and subjected yourself to the nameless horrors of a ball.


    He shrugged and looked away from me again, resuming his staring.


    ¡®So,¡¯ I continued doggedly, ¡®I assume you¡¯ll see more of her in the future, attend more balls than before, now that the situation has changed?¡¯

 Page 97

    His left little finger twitched. I had noticed this was his way of demonstrating extreme annoyance - the way someone else might scowl or curse at you. ¡®Hmm. I suppose. It will be unavoidable for what I have in mind.¡¯


    Oh yes, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s very inconvenient to one as mighty as yourself that you can¡¯t just order a woman to marry you. You actually have to spend time with her first! How terrible!


    Really, I should be feeling pity for this poor creature who would fall into the trap of marrying this man. A great deal of pity.


    So why the bloody hell did I feel so angry instead?


    He looked down at me sharply, the first time during the dance he had given me his full, undivided attention.


    ¡®How do you know I will be spending more time at social events?¡¯ His finger twitched again. ¡®You cannot have¡­ No, you simply cannot have guessed my plans!¡¯


    Oh dear. He was just as self-centred as all other men. He couldn¡¯t hope to rival a woman¡¯s intuition.


    ¡®Actually, I think I have,¡¯ I said as sweetly as possible.


    He looked up again, staring at Miss Hamilton and Lord Dalgliesh, who were still engaged in conversation.


    ¡®I must say I¡¯m surprised, Miss Linton. I didn¡¯t think you would figure it out so quickly. In fact, I didn¡¯t think anybody could figure it out on their own.¡¯


    I had to work hard to conceal a snort.


    Please! With your staring at her the entire time? What sort of silly guffin do you take me for?


    ¡®I think it is pretty obvious,¡¯ I retorted, my tone not a bit sarcastic. Honest, maybe, but not a bit sarcastic,


    ¡®Indeed? Well, if I were you, Miss Linton, I¡¯d keep what you know to yourself. If it comes out that you know, you will be in terrible danger. You might end up with a knife between your ribs.¡¯


    My eyebrows shot up. ¡®That¡¯s going a bit far, don''t you think?¡¯ A derisive snort escaped me. ¡®She can¡¯t be that jealous.¡¯


    ¡®She?¡¯ Abruptly, he stopped turning. The neighbouring couples almost crashed into us, and only because I stirred him into motion again was a collision avoided. ¡®She? What are you talking about, Miss Linton?¡¯


    ¡®Your¡­¡¯ I swallowed. For some reason it was hard to say out loud. Avoiding his eyes helped, so I looked down. ¡®Your romantic interest in Miss Hamilton, of course.¡¯ A frown crept onto my face. ¡®What were you talking about?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t answer me at first. Looking up, I saw that his beautiful statue¡¯s face was even more emotionless than usual. Whereas normally it just looked stony, now it looked completely vacant. He looked as if he was readjusting the gears of his brain.


    ¡®Well¡­¡¯ He cleared his throat. ¡®I was talking of my interest in Miss Hamilton, of course. You¡¯re right. I am very romantically interested. Indeed you could say, pining with love for her. That would be a very accurate description of the situation.¡¯


    ¡®I see,¡¯ I mumbled, looking down again, so I didn¡¯t have to look at his chiselled face anymore. For some reason my eyes started stinging. ¡®What was it that caught your fancy? Her figure? Her eyes?¡¯


    ¡®Her eyes. And her figure, too. And her dress, her manners, and her¡­ well, she does not have anything more to catch fancies with, but all that she does have is very fancy-catching. You could say that I have passionately fallen in love with the entirety of her, not just the individual components.¡¯


    ¡®But you like her eyes.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, indeed.¡¯


    ¡®What is so special about them?¡¯ I demanded to know, still not daring to look up. I had a suspicion why my eyes were stinging, and if it was correct I wanted nothing less than for him to see my face right now. ¡®I saw nothing extraordinary about them!¡¯


    He cleared his throat again. ¡®Well¡­ they look very¡­ very ocular, for one thing.¡¯


    ¡®What is that supposed to mean?¡¯


    ¡®Pardon?¡¯


    ¡®This word, ¡°ocular¡±. What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡¯


    ¡®It is Latin. It is a word denoting everything that refers to eyes.¡¯


    ¡®So¡­ what you¡¯re in fact saying is that what¡¯s special about her eyes is that they look very much like eyes.¡¯


    Now I simply had to stare up at him suspiciously. He wouldn¡¯t see my face anyway. He would still be staring at her.


    I was right. He was. His gaze was still firmly fixed on the lady and Lord Dalgliesh.


    ¡®Her nose is very lovely, too,¡¯ he added, sounding more like a salesman at the London market praising a fish of whose freshness he wasn¡¯t convinced than like a passionate lover. Maybe he always sounded like that when he was in love. If so, God have mercy on any poor creature who ever developed real, deep feelings for him! Not that something like that was ever likely to happen.


    ¡®Does it, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, indeed, her nose has many excellent features. It is straight, not overly long or crooked like those of some other ladies in the ballroom; it has two holes at the bottom, and there is no hair growing out of them. Her teeth are adequate, too - none missing or falling out. I checked. You should always check the teeth first.¡¯


    ¡®I believe that¡¯s when you¡¯re buying a horse, not when you¡¯re looking for a prospective bride,¡¯ I pointed out.


    ¡®Indeed? Well, it certainly cannot hurt to check. In any case, what all this boils down to is that I am in love with Miss Hamilton. Passionately in love.¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯ I bit my lip. ¡®You already mentioned that.¡¯


    ¡®And that¡¯s the only reason I came to this ball. To spend time with the woman I am passionately in love with. There was no other motivation.¡¯


    Still he wouldn¡¯t even look at me. His words were like sharp pinpricks. I knew they shouldn¡¯t hurt, but they did. With all my might, I avoided looking up into his dark, sea-coloured eyes, staring at the floor instead.


    ¡®Yes, Sir. I understand.¡¯


    The dance ended just at that moment, and I had never been so happy about the end of a dance in my life. For once I had no desire to hound him about the contents of the file, or demand equal treatment with men, or do anything else. All I wanted was to be far away from him.


    I am in love with Miss Hamilton. Passionately in love.


    His words echoed in my head again and again, refusing to leave me alone. The moment he released me from his grip, I stepped back, not wanting him to touch or hold me any longer. I just managed a brief curtsy, then I turned and ran away through the crowd, wishing that in this ballroom there was just one quiet corner where I could hide!

 Page 98

    Secret Plans and Politics


    There¡¯s no reason to be angry! No reason to be upset! I told myself, chewing savagely on a bar of solid chocolate I had found at one of the refreshment tables. Not in the least! It is typical male behaviour, valuing a pretty doll in a ball gown more than a girl who actually chose to go out into the world and do something with her life. And there¡¯s no reason why that should make you angry! Not in the least!


    It didn¡¯t help. The chocolate did to some extent, soothing my nerves a bit, but I was still fuming when I reached a table with free chairs and slumped down onto the nearest one.


    And do you want to know what the most infuriating part was?


    I couldn¡¯t even figure out why exactly I was so angry! I mean, it wasn¡¯t as though I were entitled attract Mr Ambrose¡¯s attention or even had any reason to wish it. I was his secretary, no more and no less.


    It¡¯s the inequality of the thing, I finally decided. It wouldn¡¯t bother you at all if Miss Hamilton were a sensible female who actually worked for a living and stood up to men and their unjust laws. It is the suffragist in you that has taken a justified dislike to her, that is all.


    Satisfied with my findings, and very happy about my noble disposition which wouldn¡¯t stoop to something such as petty jealousy, I took another bite of chocolate and moaned as the piece melted in my mouth.


    Ohhh¡­


    The chap who invented this was surely the only decent man living! A true genius and benefactor to the whole world. The solid chocolate did wonders for consoling me. I sat at the table, slowly finding my calmer self again and wondering what step I should take next regarding Ella and her unwanted admirer. Maybe if I just pestered him a little more¡­


    ¡®Lilly, my dear!¡¯


    I froze. The voice that had come from behind me was unmistakable. It was the chief fury of hell! Turning, I saw my aunt rush towards me. But for once, she wore no angry scowl directed at me. Instead, her arms were wide open and there might have been actual tears of joy in her eyes.


    ¡®Come into my arms, most beloved niece of mine!¡¯ Before I could run for the hills, she had enfolded me in her arms and was pressing me to her meagre bosom. Startled, I hugged back reflexively. What was this? Could it be that this wasn¡¯t my aunt, but her not-so-evil twin? Or a moving wax replica? Those were the only explanations for the abnormally chummy behaviour of the being in front of me which I could come up with.


    ¡®I saw you dancing with Lord Dalgliesh!¡¯ she exclaimed, and suddenly everything became clear to me. This was still my aunt, as she lived and breathed. ¡®What did you talk about? Did he seem interested in you? Will you see him again? Oh, Lillian, don''t just stand there saying nothing. You are always so quiet, girl! You will never get anywhere if you do not learn how to properly express yourself!¡¯


    ¡®We didn¡¯t talk about important things really,¡¯ I murmured, choosing my words with care. I was well aware that I was walking a mine-field here. ¡®We just talked about, um¡­ mutual acquaintances, that is all.¡¯


    ¡®Wonderful! Wonderful! You have made a great start with him. Now don''t lose sight of him, do you hear me? If you can secure him¡­ Good God! That would probably be the most eligible match in all of England!¡¯


    I waited with bated breath, wondering if she would make any remark about my dance with Mr Ambrose, too. But she was so full of my dance with Lord Dalgliesh that she apparently hadn¡¯t even noticed what I had done once that had been over. I had to admit that after a while her profusions on the subject got a bit boring. Not that I had anything against Lord Dalgliesh - no more than against any other person in trousers on this planet - but I definitely did not entertain the thought of marrying him! Instinctively I knew that to him, I was no more than a marionette, just like all the other people in this room and all the people of his company. No more than an instrument to be directed according to his will. That was definitely not the kind of person I wanted to be linked with for the rest of my life.


    My aunt was just in the middle of a hymn of praise on Lord Dalgliesh¡¯s taste in dressing, when I had had enough. Rising, I told her with a more than convincingly faked smile:


    ¡®Forgive me, Madam, but I think I am tired of sitting. I will look about and maybe find a pleasant partner to dance with.¡¯


    ¡®Oh yes, my darling, do that, do that! And let it be the right one!¡¯


    ¡®You mean the richest one?¡¯


    ¡®Finally! Finally, you understand my concerns! Oh, Lillian, that I would live to see this day¡­¡¯ She seemed about to succumb to tears of happiness again. But then, with great restraint, she collected herself and waved me off. ¡®Go, go! The next dance is starting, don¡¯t miss your chance, my dear!¡¯


    ¡®Certainly, Madam.¡¯


    As quickly as possible, I made my escape. In a corner of the room I spied a nice, big potted plant.


    Wonderful! Just what you need to hide behind and take a few minutes¡¯ break before you have to face the ballroom crowd again!


    Moving inconspicuously towards my target, I looked left and right to make sure no one was watching and then slid behind the large, dark green plant - only to discover that somebody else had apparently had the same idea.


    Ella stumbled back against the wall, giving a little shriek, which immediately cut off when she recognized me.


    ¡®Oh Lilly, thank God it¡¯s you,¡¯ she whispered, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. ¡®He isn¡¯t lurking somewhere, is he?¡¯


    I took a peek around the potted plant. Wilkins was nowhere in sight.


    ¡®No. At least I don''t see him.¡¯


    ¡®Thank God,¡¯ she repeated. ¡®I swear to you, if he tries to stick another flower in my hair, I will collapse.¡¯


    ¡®Oh?¡¯ I raised an eyebrow. ¡®I thought you told me¡­ what was it again? Yes, that was it! You told me it was an honour to be courted by such a great noble, didn¡¯t you?¡¯


    She blushed. ¡®Of course it is! I only meant¡­ I mean¡­ I am very honoured, very honoured indeed. He is paying me an enormous compliment, singling me out like this, and I really, and I¡­ I really am flattered that I among all the ladies should be chosen to be the object of his-¡¯


    ¡®Put a sock in it,¡¯ I told her with a goodly dose of sisterly affection. Ella hung her head, still blushing.


    ¡®You¡­ I¡­¡¯


    ¡®You don''t have to pretend. Not where I¡¯m concerned. Tell me honestly: do you want to marry Sir Philip Wilkins?¡¯

 Page 99

    She squirmed. ¡®Well¡­ maybe not very much?¡¯


    ¡®So you want to marry him just a little, do you? Maybe just his ring finger and his left foot, and the rest of him can stay a bachelor?¡¯


    Ella suddenly seemed to have an intense desire to inspect her feet. She looked down, avoiding my eyes.


    ¡®Um¡­ if you put it that way¡­ no. I don''t think I do.¡¯


    ¡®And what about the rest of him?¡¯


    She made a minute movement. Among immovable pillars of salt, it might have passed for a headshake.


    ¡®Say it,¡¯ I encouraged her. ¡®Do you want to marry Wilkins?¡¯


    ¡®N¡­ n¡­¡¯


    ¡®Go on! You can do it! Do you want to marry him?¡¯


    ¡®No!¡¯


    ¡®Bravo!¡¯ I rubbed my hands, grinning from ear to ear. ¡®Excellent!¡¯


    ¡®Excellent?¡¯ Ella looked up at me, desperation in her face ¡®What¡¯s excellent about it? Aunt Brank wants me to marry him!¡¯


    ¡®I mean it¡¯s excellent you have admitted it to yourself. You normally don''t do that. It¡¯s the first step to problem-solving.¡¯


    ¡®Err¡­ and the next one is?¡¯


    I waved my hand dismissively. ¡®We''ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Just at the moment you look like you need something to restore your nerves.¡¯


    ¡®To be absolutely honest¡­ I think that¡¯s true.¡¯


    ¡®Well then, my dear little sister¡­¡¯ I put an arm around her and steered her from behind the potted plant. I already felt better. It had always been that way for me. When I was busy solving Ella¡¯s problems, my own suddenly didn¡¯t seem as important any more. ¡®I have just the thing for you. It¡¯s called solid chocolate. Let¡¯s see how you like it, shall we?¡¯


    Ella accompanied me willingly. We were about half the way towards the refreshment tables when somebody roughly grabbed me by the arm and whirled me around. When I saw who it was, I gasped in surprise.


    ¡®There you are, strange lady!¡¯


    ¡®Patsy!¡¯ I exclaimed, and then was swept up in a vice-like hug, ten times more forceful than my aunt¡¯s had been. With complete disregard for our hoop skirts, which should have kept us at a respectful distance, Patsy crushed me to her, and from the region of my legs, I heard whalebones[38] groan and crunch.


    ¡®Patsy,¡¯ I gasped again, pushing her back and looking at her solid figure, her broad, gruff, oh-so-reliable face. For the moment all dark thoughts about Mr Ambrose were forgotten. ¡®Is it really you? What are you doing here? How did you manage to get invited? I thought old Lady Metcalf can¡¯t stand you and your modern ways!¡¯


    Patsy grinned.


    ¡®Well, she can¡¯t, actually, but she is an old friend of my mother¡¯s and has to pretend to like me. More to the point, what are you doing here?¡¯


    ¡®Well you know how my aunt is, she always drags me to balls¡­¡¯


    ¡®Not here at the ball, silly! I mean what are you doing here in London, here in England even? I thought you had emigrated to Timbuktu or something! I haven¡¯t seen you in ages! And don''t tell me you¡¯ve been driving around the park presenting yourself to the eyes of eligible bachelors. I know that¡¯s what you¡¯ve told your aunt, because I came by your house to visit when you were out. But I and the other girls have been in the park often enough and haven¡¯t seen hide nor hair of you! What are you up to?¡¯


    I bit my lip.


    Hell¡¯s Whiskers, what to tell her?


    I couldn¡¯t tell her that I was working for a living, could I? Not that Patsy would have anything against it. On the contrary. I was certain she would wholeheartedly approve. But if I told her about my work, I would also have to tell her about Mr Ambrose. And for some reason I didn¡¯t want to do that. I didn¡¯t want to do that at all.


    I opened my mouth, not knowing what I was going to say. Maybe a clever explanation would have come to me at the last moment. Yet before I could say anything, the decision was taken out of my hand by a very simple, very common event:


    Beside me, Ella blushed.


    ¡®Aha!¡¯


    Patsy pounced on her.


    ¡®You know something, don''t you? Out with it, Ella! Go on!¡¯


    Ella¡¯s eyes flickered from side to side like those of a frightened deer. I sighed. Ella was no liar, and under the unconquerable force that was Patsy Cusack, only one result could ensue.


    ¡®Lilly, um¡­ Lilly is¡­¡¯


    ¡®Yes¡­?¡¯ Patsy encouraged.


    ¡®Lilly is seeing somebody. But don''t tell anybody. It¡¯s supposed to be a secret.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, a secret,¡¯ I confirmed throwing a dirty look at her. ¡®That¡¯s why I asked you to keep it secret, by which I meant not tell it to anybody.¡¯


    With those adorable blue damsel-in-distress eyes of hers she threw me an apologetic glance. ¡®I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry Lilly, I just can¡¯t¡­ can¡¯t lie about¡­¡¯


    My anger was snuffed out like a candle flame under a wet towel. Nobody could stay angry at Ella. Not even the chief of avenging angels.


    ¡®All right,¡¯ I grumbled with a shrug. It was to be expected. And it wasn¡¯t like it had been the truth in the first place.


    Turning my attention away from my little sister, I scrutinised Patsy. She hadn¡¯t yet said a word in response to Ella¡¯s disclosure. Her mouth stood slightly open, her lips were moving without producing any sound, and her eyes were unfocused. She looked like she had tried solving a complex mathematical equation and had ended up with 1009 = 0.


    ¡®Seeing somebody?¡¯ she echoed. ¡®As in¡­ a member of the opposite sex? A man?¡¯


    ¡®No, a hippopotamus,¡¯ I snapped. ¡®Yes, a man! What did you think?¡¯


    ¡®Frankly, I would have thought a hippopotamus would have been more likely!¡¯


    My fingers flexed. ¡®Do you want me to clobber you with my fan?¡¯


    ¡®No need to get violent. I¡¯m just shocked.¡¯ She shook her head, dazed. ¡®A man. Fancy that. Lilly Linton going over to the enemy.¡¯


    Reflexively, my chin shot out. ¡®I¡¯m not ¡°going over to the enemy¡±!¡¯


    ¡®Really? Hasn¡¯t your sweetheart asked you to shed your extremist political views about voting, working women yet? It''ll happen, just you wait. And next you¡¯ll get all silly and soppy and start knitting and sewing and saying that a lady¡¯s proper place is inside the home.¡¯

 Page 100

    She shook her head in mock disgust, smirking.


    ¡®And I had such a promising future in the movement planned for you. You could have gone far, my young friend. Too bad you throw it all away for a simple life of marital bliss.¡¯


    I knew that she was joking, of course - but in a way, she wasn¡¯t. She really thought I was straying from the path and sacrificing my ideals.


    Well, I¡¯d show her!


    With no work tomorrow, I would have plenty of time. Leaning towards her so that nobody else could hear me, I whispered: ¡®Meet me with the other girls at ten o''clock tomorrow morning in Green Park, and I¡¯ll tell you what I think a lady should be doing.¡¯


    She looked at me, a smile slowly spreading over her broad face, mingled suspicion and interest twinkling in her eyes.


    ¡®What have you got planned?¡¯


    ¡®My secret for now.¡¯ I winked. ¡®Suffice it to say that I have overheard something which might be of interest to our little group of suffragists. We have work to do!¡¯


    The rest of the ball went by quickly, mostly because now I had something with which to occupy my mind. What the loose-lipped gentleman had told me about the meeting against the women¡¯s suffrage in Hyde Park kept reverberating inside my head. Ideas were fermenting inside my busy bean. Soon they would develop into plans.


    I spent the rest of the ball plotting the downfall of mankind and the rise of womankind. Most of my plotting happened together with Ella and Patsy in Lord Dalgliesh¡¯s vicinity. This had multiple advantages:


    The group around the lord was one of the thickest in the ballroom. Thus, whenever Sir Philip came in sight, we could shove Ella behind a fat duchess or broad-shouldered admiral, and she would be saved from another dance.


    Whenever my aunt looked my way and saw me, right there, next to Lord Dalgliesh, she beamed as if it were Christmas and Easter put together. At least she wouldn¡¯t be able to say I wasn¡¯t trying.


    For some reason, Mr Ambrose stayed far away from the group. This I found strange, because earlier he had made such a particular point of greeting Lord Dalgliesh as if they were old friends. But who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?


    By use of this clever method of unpleasant-people-avoidance we were able to keep the nasties out of our hair for quite some time. Everyone else pretty much left us alone, too. I was rather startled when somebody coughed beside me, thinking that it was Wilkins who had seen through our ruse at last - but it was only a servant, who bowed to me politely.


    ¡®Forgive me, Miss? Could you step aside? I have to deliver a message to His Lordship.¡¯


    Promptly, I did as he asked, and so did everyone else in the vicinity. I noticed, though, that they didn¡¯t step back too far to hear what this mysterious message might be. It consisted of a letter the servant bore on a silver tray.


    Arriving at His Lordship¡¯s side, the servant gave another discreet cough.


    ¡®I beg Your Lordship¡¯s pardon? I have a message for you, My Lord.¡¯


    Lord Dalgliesh turned from the group of friends with whom he was laughing and joking and, seeing the tray, picked up the letter and eyed it over his aquiline nose.


    ¡®Who gave this to you?¡¯


    ¡®Another servant, who would not divulge the identity of his master or mistress, My Lord. But he said you would know the identity of the sender once you opened it.¡¯


    Lord Dalgliesh¡¯s gaze quickly flicked from right to left. Feeling all eyes upon him, intent with curiosity, he snatched up the silver letter-opener on the tray and cut open the envelope. He grabbed whatever was inside and pulled.


    Out came not a sheet of paper, nor a card, nor anything else with writing on it. No, out came a lock of hair - blond hair to be precise. For a moment, everything was still around the little group, then discreet chuckles broke out among the gentlemen, and the ladies fanned themselves.


    ¡®By Jove!¡¯ a colonel in the Royal Dragoons[39] exclaimed. ¡®I think it¡¯s rather more likely this letter came from a lady than from a gentleman, don''t you think so, my friends?¡¯ This was greeted by affirmations and laughter from all sides. ¡®Come on, Dalgliesh, tell us who the lucky lady is!¡¯


    For a moment. Lord Dalgliesh stood stock-still, not seeming to see or hear the world around him, concentrating only on the lock in his hand. Then, quick as a flash, he stuck it back into the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. Turning to the others, he smiled brilliantly and said: ¡®Now, now, my friends, you would not want me to compromise a lady¡¯s honour, would you? Besides, I assure you. This is far from being a token of affection. You might rather call it a declaration of war.¡¯


    The colonel laughed again.


    ¡®A declaration of war, eh? On you? Then whoever sent this must be rather a formidable creature!¡¯


    Lord Dalgliesh¡¯s smile broadened, yet at the same time I noticed it seemed to harden.


    ¡®You never spoke a truer word, my dear Colonel.¡¯


    I shook my head. Somehow, I didn¡¯t think the hair came from a woman. It had looked far too short for that. To be honest, I had no idea what to make of it, though I had the strange feeling that I should have been able to. All in all, it was far too strange an occurrence for my personal taste. As charming as he was, I vowed to stay far away from Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh in the future.


    Then and there, I didn¡¯t know how short a time it would take until that vow would be broken.


    The evening was drawing to a close. Lady Metcalf was standing at the door, curtsying to her dear friends and to people she couldn¡¯t stand but had to be polite to anyway. My aunt was in high spirits. She was so pleased about my dance with Lord Dalgliesh that she hadn¡¯t even noticed that Ella had only danced three times with Wilkins during the entire evening.


    Anne and Maria, on the other hand, were in a very bad mood. They had been forced to listen to a prolonged lecture by my aunt on how I was doing better than they with seeking out prospective husbands. I did not relish the thought of getting in a coach with them but reasoned that there were five other people in the coach, so they could hardly try and beat me to death with their parasols.


    I was just about to sneak past Lady Metcalf and get some fresh air before the coach ride when, suddenly, a gentle but firm hand placed itself on my arm and held me in place.


    ¡®A moment, if you please, Miss Linton?¡¯


    It was Lord Dalgliesh. Over his shoulder I could see my aunt, making frantic gestures of encouragement. I would have to disappoint her. Somehow I doubted that the enigmatic nobleman wanted to discuss an engagement.