by Robert Thier
This was it. This was my chance!
Jumping up and stuffing all my things into my suitcase, I carefully opened the door and peeked outside. No one in sight.
Cautiously, I tiptoed down the corridor. Thank heavens I had broken Mr Ambrose’s cardinal rule and paid the landlord in advance. It was worth it if I could get out of here without a teary goodbye scene with Miss Emilia Harse.
The inn was quiet. While most of Dover was already up and about, most passengers, to judge by the noise coming through some of the thin doors, seemed content to snore the day away. I reached the front door without encountering anyone. Outside, the dull grey sky of a beautiful English morning greeted me, accompanied by the smell of freedom, seaweed, and rotten fish. Following the latter, I easily found my way to the harbour.
I’m coming, Mr Ambrose!
Several steamships lined the docks, interspersed with smaller fishing boats and cutters. Rising above the smaller masts, like castle towers above the treetops, I could even see the huge masts of a great sailing ship. My eyes wandered up and, there, at the mast, I saw flying the flag of the East India Company.
Shuddering, I quickly turned away. That was one ship I would not be boarding.
Turning my head this way and that, I wandered down the docks, searching. After only five minutes, I spotted it: a small steamer painted in cheerful blue and green, on its side emblazoned the name the innkeeper had told me: Rob Roy,[2] Scottish hero, and today, my hero as well, if all went as planned.
Hastily I marched up to the guard beside the gangplank.
‘Please tell me that you’re going to France and you’re weighing anchor soon,’ I demanded, throwing an anxious glance back at the inn. No sign of Emilia yet. ‘Please!’
‘Err…aye, we’re leavin’. In about fifteen minutes, guv.’
‘Wonderful! Brilliant! You’re my saviour!’
And, pressing my ticket into his hand along with a tip that would have made Mr Ambrose faint, I hurried onto the ship and ducked behind the closest funnel. Sinking against the heated metal, I let out a sigh of relief. Safe!
Well, almost.
With bated breath I waited while more passengers streamed on board, and sailors loaded bags of mail. The same bags that, not so long ago, must have contained my own letters to Mr Ambrose. Finally, a bell sounded, and the captain stepped out on the upper deck.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please step back from the gangplank. We’ll be casting off soon. If any passengers are still on land and do not wish to miss the ferry from Dover to Calais, please board now. We shall be departing in approximately five minutes.’
A harried-looking little man sprinted on board, but everyone else seemed to be ready for departure. Especially me.
Get it over with! Go on! Move!
Finally, the bell sounded again.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please step away from the gangplank and hold fast. This ferry from Dover to Calais is now departing. May we have calm seas and fair weather.’
With a deep rumble, the steam engines sprang to life. Smoke spewed from the funnel high above my head. The sailors raised the gangplank, and slowly, ever so slowly, we started to drift away from the docks, gathering speed, wind blowing ever faster in my face.
It’s really happening. I’m going. I’m leaving, all on my own.
Stepping out from behind the funnel, I slowly approached the railing and gazed back at the quickly receding city of Dover, its beaches, docks and white cliffs gleaming in the sun. A broad smile began to spread over my face. I had done it. I had gotten away and was heading towards France. Towards Mr Ambrose. And far, far away from Miss Emilia Ha—
‘Mr Linton! What a pleasure to see you here!’
I froze.
Slowly, torturously slowly, I turned around. I didn’t want to see what I knew I would see once I faced towards the ship—but as usual, the universe didn’t give a flying fig about my preferences.
‘So you’re on your way to France, too?’ Beaming with happiness, Emila Harse rushed towards me, little hearts blinking in her eyes. ‘How wonderful! I was so terribly upset when we had to board the ferry this morning, thinking we were leaving you behind. And now look what’s happened! Isn’t this splendid?’
‘A pleasant coincidence,’ the mother agreed, a calculating look in her eyes that I knew all too well from my Aunt Brank. It was the same look she directed at eligible bachelors. I nearly jumped over the side of the ship. ‘A pleasant coincidence indeed.’
‘Coincidence?’ Stepping towards me, Emilia touched my hand. Why shouldn’t I jump over the side? Surely it couldn’t be so hard to swim to Calais? Wasn’t there a fellow who had tried to swim the English Channel and only drowned just before he reached the shore? That was a risk worth taking, surely! ‘It must be fate that has led us together.’
Fate, I’m going to kill you.
Feeding the Homeless and the Blackmailers
As a child, I loved playing hide and seek. We had our own special family rules, and they were quite simple: I would put a frog in my aunt’s boot. Her screech was the signal for the game to begin. I would hide, and she would seek (screaming with rage and waving a carpet beater). The thought made me smile. Ah, what fun times we had as a family…
Now, however, things were different.
‘Mr Linton? Yoo-hoo, Mr Linton, where are you?’
Holding my breath, I cowered behind the lifeboat and prayed she wouldn’t think to look there.
Just let her walk by. Just let her walk by, please…
The tarpaulin over the lifeboat lifted just a bit and a curious pair of eyes peeked out.
‘Are ye a stowaway, too?’ whispered a voice that hadn’t encountered puberty yet.
‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I’m a passenger! Please, can I come hide in there with you?’
The eye blinked. ‘Err….why?’
‘Yoo-hoo, Mr Linton? Come out, come out, wherever you are. You’re such a tease. I love that about you.’
‘Long story!’ I hissed. ‘Can’t explain now. Please, just please! Let me hide in there?’
The young stowaway considered.
‘Two shillings,’ he finally decided. A hand emerged from the tarpaulin and opened.
‘You expect me to pay you?’
‘Hey, Mister, ye’re the one who’s wanting to share me hiding place.’
‘Your hiding place? You are the stowaway here! I could just call the captain and—’
‘—draw attention to yerself,’ the boy finished. He sounded as if he was enjoying himself. ‘And I’m sure we don’t want that, now, would we? Two shillings and sixpence.’
‘What? You conniving, greedy little—’
‘Two shillings and eightpence.’
‘All right, all right! But only because you remind me of someone I know.’ Quickly, I dug around for a few coins in my pocket and pressed them into the greedy little hand. It withdrew with admirable speed, and I followed, crawling under the tarpaulin. Inside, I encountered a shadowy little form with a dirty face and gap-toothed grin.
‘So…’ enquired the boy. ‘If ye ain’t no stowaway, why are ye hiding? Smuggling? Murder? Piracy?’
He sounded hopeful.
‘God, no! Nothing like that.’
‘Oh. Um…but maybe you know some smugglers or pirates? I’d love to be a pirate one day! If you could tell me where to join—’
‘Be quiet, will you?’ I hissed. ‘She’ll hear us!’
‘She? We’re hiding from a girl?’
Just in time, I lunged forward and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, or the little brat would have stuck his head out from under the tarpaulin and given us away.
‘Let me go!’ he protested. ‘I can’t hide from a girl! That’s cowardly. Girls are harmless.’
‘You, young man,’ I told him, ‘have a lot to learn. Now keep your mouth shut!’
‘Or what?’
‘Or you won’t get the other shilling I’ve got in my pocket.’
That did the trick. G
rumbling, he fell into reluctant silence. So did I, and we waited while Miss Emilia Harse passed by outside, calling my name. When she was gone, I waited another few minutes, just to be sure, then slid out from under my hiding place and handed the boy his shilling.
‘Can I come hiding here again?’ I asked. ‘Things are rather desperate.’
He grinned up at me. ‘Depends. ‘ave you got more money?’
‘Yes, but you won’t get any! Wouldn’t do you any good, anyway. You’re heading to France, you little worm, remember? They don’t use pounds and shillings over there.’
‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘Right.’
‘But,’ I continued, ‘I might have something even better for you.’
‘Better than money? What’s better than money?’
I grinned. ‘Can’t you guess?’
*~*~**~*~*
A quarter of an hour later I sauntered into the ferry’s dining room and settled down at a nice, quiet corner table. A waiter came hurrying towards me.
‘Good afternoon, Sir. Have you made your choice yet?’
Cocking my head, I studied the menu. ‘That depends. Is the food included in the ticket price?’
Looking up, I saw the waiter gave me a considering look. A look that said, How much could this little fellow eat, after all? He smiled. ‘Yes, of course, Sir. All included in our service.’
‘Very well. Then I would like…the roast duck, as an appetizer, next the French pie and the chicken fricassee, then the tomato salad, the strawberries in cream, and the steak and kidney pie, followed by the hare soup, without any hairs in it, please, and the mutton cutlets, the braised beef, the turbot in lobster sauce, the spring chicken, the roast quarter of lamb – or all four quarters, if you have them – and, as a little dessert, two apple pies and a chocolate cake, please.’
I glanced up to see the waiter standing there with his mouth open.
‘Well?’ I enquired. ‘What are you waiting for?’
The poor waiter hurried off towards the galley to make the cook into a galley slave.
The rumbling of a stomach came from under the tablecloth. ‘How long will it be until the grub comes, guv?’
I kicked the table. ‘Be quiet, you little greedy-guts. You’ll get your food.’
‘Aye aye, Sir!’
The table fell silent.
I was just about to lean back in my chair and pop open the bottle of wine waiting for me on the table when the doors to the dining room opened, and in stepped Miss Harse. Her eyes found me and lit up with joy.
My first instinct was to jump up from the table and out the nearest porthole.
Stay where you are, Lilly! You don’t run. You’ve got backbone, and if you don’t, you’d damn well better get some! You’re safe here. She wouldn’t dare to maul you in front of all the dinner guests.
Probably.
Well…hopefully.
The lady approached my table with a broad smile. I forced an answering smile onto my face, for the first time in my life understanding why it was so hard for Mr Ambrose to do that he didn’t bother most of the time.
‘Miss Harse. What a pleasure to see you,’ I lied.
The table giggled. I gave it another kick.
Miss Harse blushed. She damn well blushed! And then—bloody hell!—she stopped in front of the table.
‘Yes. A true pleasure for me as well, Mr Linton.’
And she still stood there, without showing a sign of sitting down, although she clearly wanted to. Why not?
‘Ask her to sit down, you dummy!’ hissed my table.
‘What was that?’ Miss Harse asked.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ I shook my head and felt like slapping myself. Of course! Those gentlemanly rules again. She’s probably waiting for me to ask her to sit down, and to pull her chair out.
Well, time for me to do the thing I was simply fabulous at: being rude.
Leisurely crossing my arms behind my head, I leant back and gave the lady a charming smile.
‘Wonderful weather we have today, don’t we?’
She blinked, and looked from me to the chair and back. This was not what she’d been expecting to hear.
‘Err…yes.’
‘Oh dear me, where did I leave my manners? Won’t you take a—’
‘Yes, please!’
‘—nut?’
She froze in mid-motion.
‘Pardon?’
‘A nut.’ I reached for the bowl of nuts and grapes standing on the table and held it out to her. ‘As a little appetizer.’
‘Oh. Um. Yes, thank you.’
Still she remained standing, unable to sit down, but clearly unwilling to walk away. With severe difficulty, I managed to suppress a grin. Boy, this was fun! More than that, it was genius! Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I could just be abominably rude to her, and soon enough she would leave me alone.
You’re a genius, Lilly! Just act like an arrogant, patronising, chauvinistic son of a bachelor. After all, who in their right mind would want to be with a man like that?
With an arrogant smirk, I crossed my legs under the table. Something tugged at my trousers. Damn! I didn’t need a street urchin and stowaway trying to remind me of my gentlemanly manners! Especially not since I had only just gotten rid of them. With my foot, I gave the squirt a gentle shove, telling him to keep his nose out of my business.
Time to start your career as a chauvinistic bastard, Lilly!
‘I’m really looking forward to seeing France again, you know.’ I informed Miss Harse.
‘Again?’ The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You mean you’ve been there before?’
‘Of course. I’ve been all over the world.’ Dismissively, I flicked a speck of dust off my tailcoat. Heck, being arrogant was fun! Time for a bit of chauvinism. ‘But France is one of my favourite places to be. French girls are simply…oh la la.’
‘Mr Linton!’ The scandalised girl covered her mouth with one hand, a fierce blush rising to her cheeks. ‘You shouldn’t say these things in front of a lady.’
I gave her an arrogant smirk, the kind of which usually earned my suitors a kick on the shins. ‘Well, as the French say, Vous êtes une botte asymétrique liée à une courgette.’[3]
‘Mr Linton!’ Blushing furiously, she took a step backwards. An impressive result, considering I was quite sure she had no idea what I had just said, and incidentally, neither had I. ‘You wicked, wicked man.’
Her blush deepened. Oh yes. I was making quite a good start in my career as a blackguard, rake and general arsehole. Only…why hadn’t she run away yet? She was still standing there, her eyes resting on me with strange fascination. I supposed I would have to use more drastic measures.
‘Well, it’s been nice chatting with you. But now run along little girl, will you?’ With one leisurely hand, I waved her off. ‘I think my meal is coming, and you’re blocking my view of the ocean.’
Wow. I really was talented at being a chauvinistic arsehole—almost as though I had rehearsed the role. How could that be?
Oh well, who cared? As long as my patented arsehole method would get rid of Miss Emilia Harse, what did it matter?
‘Y-your view?’ The girl blinked. ‘Oh. Of course.’ Giving me a shy smile, she curtsied. ‘I’ll go find my mother. I hope we meet again, Mr Linton. Very soon.’
And with another blush, she hurried away, while I stared after her, dumbfounded. She hoped we’d meet again? Very soon?
Why?
‘Gorblimey!’ A dirty little head emerged from under the table, gazing after Miss Harse. ‘She’s got it bad for you, guv. You played her good!’
‘What do you mean, I played her?’ I blinked at him. ‘I was an arrogant bastard! My manners were worse than those of Attila the Hun with a hangover. She would have to be insane to want to spend another minute in my company.’
The little boy glanced up at me—then gave a cackle. ‘You’re serious guv, aren’t ye? Ye God! Ye’ve got a lot to learn about women.’
I
glowered at him. ‘Get back under the table before I change my mind about the food.’
He stuck his tongue out and vanished with another grin.
Shaking my head, I grabbed for a paper and put up a dignified wall between me and insolent stowaways. Me, not knowing anything about women? Ha! Ridiculous!
‘Sir?’
Lowering my paper, I spotted the approaching waiter swaying under the weight of my meal. ‘Here you are, Sir,’ panted the poor man, dropping the first three courses in my lap. Somehow, I managed to slow their descent and steer them onto the table.
‘Thank you.’
Straightening, the waiter wiped sweat off his forehead. ‘Will you be needing anything else, Sir?’
I gave him a smile. ‘Well, yes. The next course, in about ten minutes.’
‘Ten minutes?’ With wide eyes, the poor man stared down at the three humongous plates in front of me, stuffed to the brim with food. ‘But…’
‘Oh, that?’ I glanced at the plates while a small hand sneaked out from under the table and, unbeknownst to the waiter, snuck a slice of French pie from my plate. ‘Don’t worry. I have a feeling it’ll be gone quite soon.’
‘Y-yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir.’
The waiter stumbled away, and I took a sip of soup. From under the table came the sound of energetic chewing, reminiscent of a beaver determined to fell a whole forest. Soon, the last bite was gone, and a small hand appeared to snatch another slice of pie.
‘That young drapery miss really fancies you, mister.’[4]
I gave the table a censorious look. ‘Shut up and eat.’
‘So,’ he said, completely ignoring my order, ‘have you prigged her yet?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Prigged. You know? Docked her, done the beast with two backs—’
‘I know what it means! The question is, how do you? How old are you exactly? And no, I haven’t! And I’m not going to!’