Storm and Silence

by Thier, Robert

  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?

  ‘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.

  ‘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.

  ‘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.’