Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence Book 5)

by Robert Thier

  ‘Lillian Linton! What in God’s name are you up to? Taking off like that, and then dragging the whole family away from home for one of your hair-brained schemes? Get into the house this instant, young lady, before I come out and drag you inside by the ear!’

  I winced.

  Ah. Not so eerily quiet after all. Though, perhaps, the deadly silence of an epidemic would have been preferable.

  ‘Coming, my dear Aunty!’ I called and forced a smile onto my face. Showtime. I nodded to the others in the coach. ‘Wish me luck.’

  Ella squeezed my hands. ‘Good luck.’

  Eve nodded. ‘Break a leg.’

  ‘No.’ Anne smirked. ‘Break both legs.’

  ‘And both arms,’ Maria added.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ I shot back. ‘Dislocate your shoulder and crack your skull at the next opportunity, won’t you?’

  Sliding out of the coach before she could fire back—or before I could let my fear get the better of me and make me run away back to France—I started towards the house. My aunt, the fiery dragon of doom, was awaiting me at the front door.

  I raised a hand and waved. ‘Hello there.’

  To judge by the expression on my aunt’s face, she was not impressed with my good manners.

  ‘Into the house, straight away! I’ve got a few things to say to you, young lady!’

  I cleared my throat. ‘I’m sure you do. But before you do, could I have a word with Uncle Bufford? I’ve got something to tell him that—’

  ‘Inside! Now!’

  Hm. That went well, didn’t it?

  Behind me, I heard the giggles of Anne and Maria.

  Just you wait, you two. Just you wait until today is over…

  Ducking my head just in case my aunt was equipped with her trusted carpet-and-niece beater, I slunk into the house. She hadn’t used that thing since I’d turned fourteen and big enough to wrestle with her, but right now, I wouldn’t put it past her.

  Inside the house, I tried to turn. ‘Listen, Aunt, there are a few things you should probably know—’

  ‘Move! Into the drawing room with you, you disobedient chit!’

  Something prodded me in the back. The end of the carpet beater? Or had my aunt gotten herself a bayonet complete with firing squad?

  ‘But I have to tell you that I’m—’

  ‘You’re a good-for-nothing runaway, that’s what you are! Drawing room! Now!’

  For once in my life, I did as ordered. Once I had reached the drawing room, I turned around. My sisters had assembled in the entryway, in front of the front door that Ella, thank the Lord, had closed behind her. It was bad enough that my whole family apparently intended to stay to witness my evisceration. It wasn’t exactly necessary for our entire street of neighbours to listen in, as well.

  ‘Now, Aunt.’ Straightening, I took a step towards her. ‘Listen here—’

  ‘No! You listen, you miserable excuse for a proper young lady!’ Oh boy, she was on full steam. I nearly could see it coming out of her ears. Her eyes were blazing, and…yes. There it was. Mr Carpet Beater. Hello. So nice to see you after all this time. How have you been? Feeling lonely without my derrière?

  ‘You…you….’ Arms, shaking, Aunt Brank raised the carpet beater. I was too well-mannered to point out that, in her excitement, she was holding it the wrong way round. ‘You are a disgrace to the family!’

  I raised an eyebrow about half a millimetre. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘You…you…insufferable little…!’

  Ah. So it’s just as annoying for other people as it is for me. Good to know.

  ‘Your uncle and I did all we could for you! We took you in, clothed you, fed you—’

  ‘…with cold potatoes and unsalted porridge.’

  ‘Silence! We clothed you, fed you, instilled in you the good manners and virtues a true lady should possess, and tried to teach you all the accomplishments you would need to succeed in life—’

  ‘…like handling a carpet beater?’

  ‘Like proper decorum!’ Aunt Brank screeched, waving her carpet beater through the air like a madwoman and sending a nearby vase crashing to the ground. ‘Like composure! Like good manners!’

  ‘Ah. Those,’ I said and cautiously stepped away from the shards of the shattered vase.

  ‘All we asked for in return was for you to make an good match. With all the advantages we gave you, it should have been easy to find someone to marry. But did you do it? No! Did you even try? No!’

  ‘Aunt, before you go on, I think I should tell you that—’

  ‘Silence! Don’t you dare disrespect your elders, girl! It’s past time you behaved like a proper lady!’ my aunt screeched and stomped on the shards of broken porcelain, scattering them all through the living room.

  I just nodded. Normally, I wouldn’t have been eager to listen, but my aunt had never tried to teach me this kind of proper lady behaviour before. I had to admit, it was a pleasant change, and I was willing to listen and find out how vase-smashing and foot-stamping would be valuable lessons for my future.

  ‘We took you to ball after ball! We introduced you to countless gentlemen! But you never even tried! Instead, you ran off doing God only knows what and put the entire family’s reputation at risk! And was once enough for you? Oh no, you had to do it again, and again, and again over Christmas of all times, and you even dragged your uncle into this, somehow getting his permission for your hair-brained schemes and ventures! And now, apparently, it’s not enough for you to run off alone anymore, is it? No, you take along the whole family, dragging them into whatever it is you’re up to!’

  ‘Aunt—’ Ella began behind her, probably to mention a few little things like, oh, I don’t know, perhaps the cholera epidemic? But Aunt Brank raised a hand, silencing her instantly. Probably because it was the hand holding the carpet beater.

  ‘So you’ve dragged more of the family onto your side with your madness, have you?’ My aunt’s beady little eyes pierced me where I stood, pinning me to the spot. ‘Well, you can’t play that game with me, young lady! I won’t tolerate your shenanigans any longer. We’re going to put an end to this once and for all! You’re going to do what you should have done years ago—marry! And this time, there won’t be any balls and choices for you, Lillian Linton! No more officers and knights vying for your hand! I don’t give a darn who it is I hand you over to, as long as you’re out of the house! You’re going to marry the next darn man who knocks at the door, no matter if it’s the greengrocer, the shoeblack, or a bloody beggar, do you hear?’

  I opened my mouth to reply—when a knock came from the door.

  All heads turned.

  ‘Who could that be?’ Lisbeth asked, frowning.

  Aunt Brank didn’t waste time with asking question. Carpet beater still in hand, she whirled around, marched towards the door and ripped it open.

  ‘Yes?’

  There was a moment of silence. Very cool, very familiar silence. Mr Ambrose’s icy gaze rested for a moment on the carpet beater, then slowly rose to my aunt’s face.

  She dropped the carpet beater.

  He inclined his head about a millimetre.

  ‘W-who are you?’ she demanded, raising her chin to glare at him. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘My name,’ he said, sending back an arctic stare that had her retreating down the hall, ‘is Rikkard Ambrose.’ Removing his top hat and gloves, he stepped into the house without bothering to wait for an invitation and surveyed the small, sparse entryway with the supreme confidence of a general entering newly conquered territory. ‘I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.’

  THE END

  Meeting of Misers

  Additional Chapter

  ‘My name is Rikkard Ambrose. I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.’

  My aunt’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘R…Rick…Rickard…A-Ambrose?’

  One look at her face was enough for me to see—she knew who he was. Of course she did. My aunt had kept
a list of London’s most eligible bachelors since my sisters and I were old enough to hold our own spoons. There was no way she wouldn’t know the name of the man who stood unchallenged at the very top.

  ‘The Ri…Rickard Ambrose?’

  ‘No. Not Ririckard. Rickard.’

  Neatly folding his gloves, he slipped them into his tailcoat pocket, and, hanging the top hat on the hat stand, stepped into the hallway without wasting time on asking first.

  ‘You are Hester Mahulda Brank, I presume?’

  ‘Y-you’ve heard of me?’

  Mr Rikkard Ambrose glanced at me.

  ‘Oh yes.’

  My aunts shrivelled vulture face flushed with pleasure. I didn’t she had noticed that glance in my direction, or the ominous emphasis on his words.

  Just then, footsteps approached from the drawing room.

  ‘Aunt Brank?’ Maria stuck her head out into the hallway. ‘Aunt Brank, what’s the commotion? Who is i—’

  That was the moment she spotted Mr Ambrose.

  ‘Grrgmmph.’

  ‘Quite the unusual name, I must say.’ Mr Ambrose inclined his head about half a millimetre. ‘Greetings, Miss Grrgmmph. My name is Rikkard Ambrose.’

  ‘Ri-Rickard Am…Ambrose…’

  ‘Hm. Deficient hearing seems to be common in this family.’

  ‘P-please excuse our behaviour.’ Aunt Brank sank into the deepest curtsey I had ever seen her make. ‘We were simply taken aback by having the chance to great such an eminent personage as yourself in our humble home. It is quite an honour.’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  ‘Maria? What’s the hold up?’ Anne appeared behind her twin sister and tapped on her shoulder. She received no reaction whatsoever. ‘Maria? What’s the matter? What are you staring at? Who—grk!’

  Dear me.

  Mr Ambrose did have a talent for abruptly silencing people, didn’t he?

  Normally, watching my twin demon sisters wasn’t one of my favourite hobbies. But right now, it was well worth it. Smirking, I leaned against the wall and decided to enjoy the show. This was promising to be a most entertaining afternoon.

  ‘Lillian Linton! What are you doing, slouching against the wall with that silly smile on your face? Can’t you see we have an important guest? Go and fetch some refreshments, quick!’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Mr Ambrose cut in. ‘In fact, it would be counterproductive for her to leave. The reason I’ve come here today is that I have a matter to discuss with your husband. A matter regarding Miss Lillian.’

  ‘R-regarding Lillian?’ Never had I seen my aunt go so pale so fast. By the looks of it, I should go fetch smelling salts, not refreshments. ‘Please, Mr Ambrose, whatever she’s done, we’ll make sure she pays for the damage!’

  Thank you so much for the trust and faith you put in me, Aunt. It really means a lot.

  ‘Lillian, you bad, bad girl!’ Turning to me with fury blazing in her eyes, Aunt Brank waved her hand in my face. I was only glad she’d let go of the carpet beater, or I might have been laid flat. ‘How dare you insult a personage like Mr Rikkard Ambrose? Don’t you know anything? He is one of the most important people in the entire empire! Why, it is even rumoured that he has connections to the royal family!’

  You mean the fellows whose wedding we attended? That royal family?

  ‘You miserable little unfilial girl! You’re simply hopeless! Stupid! Worthless! And anyone who says different deserves to be flogged, tarred, feathered, and driven out of town!’

  Oh, they do, do they? Demonstratively, I tried not looking at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Now that’s something I’d like to see.

  ‘Why in goddness’s name are you smirking, you worthless wench?’ Shaking her head, my aunt turned back to Mr Ambrose. ‘I simply do not know what to do with her. Please, Mr Ambrose, whatever this unfilial niece of mine has done to deserve your ire, she’ll do anything to appease you! We’ll do anything!’

  ‘You will?’ He cocked his head. ‘I see. That simplifies matters. Then let me marry her.’

  ‘Of course, Sir! You may punish her in any way you—wait, what?’

  I had seen my aunt stunned with shock plenty of times. The first time I had stuck a frog into her shoe, for instance. Or that one memorable occasion on which Uncle Bufford had actually gone so far as to come down for breakfast and say ‘good morning’ to her. But never ever in my life had I seen her so utterly flabbergasted as right then.

  They said getting married would bring a girl the greatest joy of her life.

  What do you know? They’d actually been right.

  ‘P-pardon? Mr Ambrose, I think I heard you incorrectly. What did you say?’

  Uh-oh…

  I couldn’t help but grin into my hand.

  His arctic eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Did I not mention that I do not like to repeat myself? I said I wish to marry her. As in contract matrimonial relations? That is the reason for my coming here today.’

  ‘Marry?’ She asked once more, faintly. ‘Lillian?’

  Clearly, she was having trouble imagining any reasonably sane male putting those two words in the same sentence.

  One of my sisters raised their hands. ‘Err…are you sure you have the right house, Sir? I think another Lillian lives that way, five houses down the road. She’s thirty-five and has a clubfoot, but she’s a very nice girl.’

  Thank you very much for your vote of confidence!

  ‘What,’ Mr Ambrose enquired, his icy gaze sweeping the room, ‘did I just say about repeating myself?’

  Everyone instinctively took a step backwards and bowed their heads. Everyone but me, that is. My sisters didn’t fail to notice the straightforward, completely unintimidated way I looked at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, perhaps the most powerful man in the entire British Empire. Their faces instantly changed complexions. Lisbeth and Gertrude went pale. Ella flushed with joy. And as for Anne and Maria, they couldn’t have been more green with envy if they’d been frogs in my aunt’s shoes.

  They were slowly starting to realize: this was real. And it had been, for quite some time. And nobody had noticed.

  ‘No way!’ Anne whispered. ‘No way! It’s really true? It can’t be! There’s simply no way that a miserable little fussock like you could catch—’[55]

  Mr Rickard Ambrose’s eyes snapped to her in a flash. Her words dried up mid-sentence in a croak.

  ‘You were saying?’ he enquired, cocking his head.

  ‘N-nothing.’ Shaking her head wildly, she began to retreat. ‘I wasn’t saying anything.’

  ‘Indeed. That is what I thought.’

  ‘P-please forgive us, Mr Ambrose.’ My aunt made a hurried curtsy. ‘This has come as quite a shock to all of us! We had no idea…’ She turned her head towards me and was about to throw me a venomous glare when she realized that, under the current circumstances, that might not be the wisest thing to do. ‘Dear me. Here I am prattling on, and I haven’t even offered you refreshments yet. Where are my manners?’

  Mr Ambrose met her attempt at an ingratiating smile with an arctic look immune to ingratiating, bootlicking, and probably a dozen poisons besides. ‘I wouldn’t know. How many years has it been since you’ve seen them last?’

  ‘Err…um…well, I think I’d better fetch refreshments now. Leadfield, please show the gentleman into the drawing room. Girls, hurry up and help me! And as for you, Lillian—’

  ‘She,’ Mr Ambrose said, ‘is coming with me.’

  ‘Ah. Um. Right.’ Aunt Brank gave him another smile as sincere as a promise made on April Fool’s day. ‘I was just about to suggest that.’

  ‘Doubtlessly.’

  A bent and wrinkled Leadfield, who seemed to be walking even more excruciatingly slowly than normally, held open the door to the drawing room, and my aunt stepped towards the door, only to be overtaken by Mr Ambrose, who strode straight to her favourite chair and sat down.

  ‘Err…please take a seat,’ Aunt Brank said.

  He cocked his head about one mi
llimetre. ‘I already have. Now, will you go inform the head of the household of my arrival? I would like to make him give his blessing to this arrangement immediately.’

  ‘Err…surely you mean ask him to give his blessing?’

  Leaning forward, Mr Ambrose gave her a very long, very marrow-freezing look. ‘Do I look like the type of man who says things he does not mean?’

  ‘Err…no! I didn’t mean to imply…’

  ‘Your face looks a little bit red, dear aunty,’ I asked, the picture of a concerned niece drawn by an extremely devious cartoon artist. ‘What’s wrong? Feeling flustered? Would you sit down? This must be such a great joy to you, knowing that your greatest dream will finally come to fruition and your dear niece will be happily married.’

  ‘Yes,’ my dear aunty ground out between clenched teeth as she speered me with her dagger-like eyes. ‘Such a…joy.’

  ‘I can see that. You look like you could explode from delight.’

  ‘Well…yes. Then I’d better go and…and…’

  ‘Explode outside?’ Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘Adequate idea. And do not forget to fetch the man of the house.’

  ‘No, Sir! Certainly not, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’

  And she fled from the room.

  Left behind was me, Mr Ambrose, and my flabbergasted collection of frozen statues, also known as ‘sisters’.

  Reaching for one of cup of teas Leadfield had brought, I took a sip. ‘Nice weather today, isn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mr Ambrose.

  No one else said a thing. They all just kept staring at the two of us as if watching a zebra and tiger snuggling in the zoo.

  ‘Hm.’ Rising to his feet, Mr Ambrose tugged on his tailcoat. ‘This is taking too long. I shall see what is the matter!’

  And he strode out of the room.

  The door closed behind him.

  I started counting in my head.

  Three.

  Two.

  O—

  ‘What the everloving figs!? Lilly, what the heck is going on here?’

  My sisters Anne and Maria appeared in front of me, like fallen angels of vengeance. All that was missing were the tails and pitchforks. Although at least the flames of hell in their eyes were there.