Silence Breaking

by Robert Thier

  ‘Holy hell!’ Suddenly overcome with rage, I slammed a fist into the wall. Rage for him. Rage for me. But, most of all, rage for the two unfortunate souls lying bruised and bandaged in front of us. ‘How was he able to do this? I don’t understand…!’

  ‘An “accident”.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was dispassionate, but still, used as I was to trying to read him, I could sense a touch of bitterness in it. ‘A Christmas tree fell on top of them, or something like that. It always is with him.’

  ‘And he gets away with it?’

  ‘He’s a peer of the realm,’ Mr Ambrose answered simply.

  ‘But surely your parents suspect…’

  ‘Ha!’ That muscle in Mr Ambrose’s jaw twitched. ‘You’ve met my mother, Mr Linton. She wouldn’t be able to think badly of a rabid berserker, let alone a “respectable gentleman”. And my father…well, as I said, Lord Dalgliesh is a peer of the realm. In my father’s eyes, he can do no wrong.’

  The bitterness in his voice made me burn with the desire to ask what had happened between them all those years ago. But I didn’t. That was a discussion for another day. A day when no sword was hanging over our heads.

  That night I slept in Mr Ambrose’s arms, with Karim standing guard outside the door. Knowing that the huge bodyguard was alert outside was a relief - yet, somehow, it didn’t bring half the comfort of the hard arms wrapped around me. Even in his deepest sleep, Mr Rikkard Ambrose felt like a rock. My rock, which I could always depend on.

  ‘I should have stayed away.’

  At the sound of his voice, I almost jumped out of my skin. Bloody hell!

  ‘I thought you were sleeping!’

  Ignoring my words, he repeated: ‘I should have stayed away from here.’

  I hesitated. ‘Why?’

  His arms tightened around me. ‘If I had stayed away, none of this would be happening.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Turning in his arms, I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. ‘None of this would be happening.’ Another featherlight kiss, this time on the lips. ‘None of it.’

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  ‘Oh, I am “Mister” Linton right now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why, Sir?’ Another kiss, this one a little less gentle.

  ‘Because you are misbehaving. Stop it!’

  ‘Stop what?’ I trailed kisses from the edge of his mouth, over his jaw and down his neck, until I was cuddling comfortably under his chin, against his chest. ‘This?’

  A rumble rose from his chest, threatening retribution. I smiled into him, ignoring the warning. Instead of retreating, I cuddled closer. In his arms, I felt safe beyond any rationally explicable manner.

  Still, would it be enough? Step by step, Lord Dalgliesh was invading Mr Ambrose’s ancestral home, taking control without its owners even realising it. There was real danger. To the both of us, and his family.

  Maybe we should just leave! Run away and…

  But no.

  As soon as I thought that, I saw an image of the hopeful face of Mr Ambrose’s mother before my inner eye. A mother who hadn’t seen her son in over ten years. This was their first family Christmas in over a decade. If we left now, without being able to give any explanation…

  I shuddered. I didn’t even want to think about it.

  We had to get through this. And we would. And then…

  ‘Mr Ambrose?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Once this is all over…’

  A moment of silence.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’re going to make Dalgliesh pay.’

  Strong, smooth lips brushed against my cheek. It was pitch-black and I couldn’t see a thing, but I thought I felt those lips curve into the tiniest smile against my skin.

  ‘That sounds…acceptable.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  Next morning at breakfast, the threat from Lord Dalgliesh somehow seemed like nothing but a dark and distant dream. His Lordship was absent from the table. In fact, quite a lot of people, including Mr Ambrose’s father and some of the guests, did not see fit to grace us with their presence that morning. It was just Mr Ambrose, his mother, his sister, me, and a few of the hyenas. And I didn’t mind their presence as much as usual.

  Why, you ask?

  Well…

  ‘A sheep’s what?’ Mr Ambrose slowly turned his head to direct his icy gaze at Lady Caroline and the dish she was holding out to him. ‘Pardon, My Lady, what did you say?’

  ‘Would you like a sheep’s trotter, Mr Ambrose?’ She pointed to the dish and gave an encouraging smile. ‘I had them brought especially from Newcastle.’

  Mr Ambrose’s eyes glittered with ice. ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘Yes. And they’re so tasty…’ Taking one of the sheep’s feet, Lady Caroline raised it to her delicate lips and nibbled on it - then coughed and hurriedly reached for a handkerchief. I had to dive behind a vase of flowers to hide the expression on my face.

  ‘Since they are such a delicacy,’ Mr Ambrose told her, his face a mask of stone, ‘I would hate to deprive you of them.’ He shifted the plate towards her. ‘Bon appétit.’

  I ducked behind the vase again, stifling helpless giggles.

  After that episode, I was almost in something resembling a good mood. Karim was getting a well-deserved day’s rest after a long night of door-guarding, so Mr Ambrose, one of ‘his’ maids and I retired to a sitting room on the second floor that had only one entrance - just about the securest location that was available. We sat there, not speaking, not doing much of anything, really, just sitting there and being there for each other. Which, for Mr Ambrose, truly was something special. When had he last taken the time to quietly sit down with someone, doing nothing?

  Probably not for over a decade.

  Downstairs, the busy Christmas preparations continued. I could hear bells jingling, and Adaira yelling orders with a voice any sergeant major would have been proud of. It almost left one feeling…merry.

  ‘Sir?’

  I glanced up before I remembered that, due to my current lack of trousers, I was probably not the one being addressed. Drat! With all this clothes-changing, I was starting to lose track of who I was currently supposed to be.

  ‘Yes?’ Raising his gaze, Mr Ambrose turned to the servant who was standing in the doorway. The young man bowed.

  ‘Your mother was wondering where you are, Sir. She asked me to fe- um, to enquire whether you could spare her a few moments.’

  There was a moment of silence. Mr Ambrose glanced at me.

  ‘Go!’ Smiling, I waved him away. ‘I’ll be perfectly safe! Mabel - it is Mabel, right?’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ the housemaid murmured.

  ‘Mabel is going to keep me company. If anything happens, I’ll scream the house down.’

  Mr Ambrose’s left little finger twitched. ‘It’s a large house.’

  ‘And I’m good at screaming, as you should know from experience. Go!’

  For another long moment, he hesitated - and then rose to his feet. ‘I shall be only a minute. In the meantime…’ He fixed a look on the housemaid that made the poor girl quiver. ‘You are personally responsible for Miss Linton’s safety. If anything happens to her in my absence, you will have me to answer to.’

  The girl jumped to her feet as if stung by a swarm of bees and hurried to take up position behind me. All she was missing was a red uniform and a big pelt hat, and she would not have been out of place in front of Buckingham Palace.

  With a last cold look at the maid, Mr Ambrose marched out of the room. The door closed behind him with a click. Shaking my head, I picked up the book I had been reading and smiled to myself. ‘Don’t worry about him.’

  ‘No, Miss?’

  ‘No. His bark is worse than his bite.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that, Miss.’

  That was the last thing I heard before her arm slipped around me and the sweet smelling cloth pressed down over my face.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ said a voice behin
d me as dark spots started appearing in front of my eyes.

  Really? How nice of you. Ho, ho, ho…

  Then the darkness took me.

  Dalgliesh

  Light sparkled. Tiny little points of light, getting bigger, then smaller, then bigger again. I wouldn’t have minded - it might even have looked nice - if every single one of them hadn’t stabbed me in the head like a red hot needle.

  ‘Aaargh…Ouww…’

  ‘Ah. I believe our guest is ready to join us in the land of the conscious.’

  That voice… that cultural, slightly amused, deadly voice…

  I knew it.

  If only I could remember…if only someone would help me…

  A bucket of water splashed into my face.

  Ah. Thanks for the help.

  ‘Pppft!’

  Spewing water in all directions, I shook my head.

  ‘Now, really, Brewer,’ came that cultured, sleek voice again. ‘Is that any way to treat a lady?’

  ‘She’s a lady, Sir?’

  ‘Most assuredly. And, though this might not be apparent at first sight, a very important one. Isn’t that right, Miss Linton?’

  Pushing my wet hair out of my eyes, I raised my head and gazed up at the smiling face of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.

  ‘I guess that depends on your definition of “important”.’

  My gaze wandered to Mabel, who was standing behind his Lordship, looking by no means as cowed as she had in the presence of Rikkard Ambrose. I stared at her, my eyes narrowing to slits.

  ‘Why?’ I demanded.

  She shrugged. ‘Dalgliesh pays better.’

  Of course.

  I loved Mr Rikkard Ambrose. I truly did. But right then and there, I could have strangled him until every last drop of stinginess was squeezed out of his miserably marvellous body!

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Turning, His Lordship pulled a pouch out of his pocket. It clinked in a very valuable way as it dropped into the maid’s open hand. ‘Your last payment. That should be enough to get you established in the colonies and make a very nice dowry.’

  ‘Judas,’ I muttered.

  Half-turning to me, Lord Dalgliesh lifted an eyebrow. ‘Hardly. That’s gold, not silver.’

  Mabel, the traitor, made a deep curtsy and hurried towards the door. Just before she stepped outside, I spoke.

  ‘Mabel?’

  She stopped in the doorway. ‘Yes?’

  ‘What I told you…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was a lie.’ I fixed her with my coldest imitation-Ambrose stare. ‘His bite is worse than his bark. Far, far worse.’

  Hurriedly, she swept out of the room. But just before she did, I could see a flash of fear spark in her eyes.

  Good! She should be afraid. She should be terrified.

  Because at least then I won’t be the only one.

  Slowly, Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh turned towards me and gave me his most brilliant, charming, shiny smile. It didn’t make me feel any better. Apart from me, there was only one other person in his room: Thomas Brewer, his ‘footman’, who was standing at the door in a pose that looked suspiciously soldierly. No one else was in sight. Not a soul could help me. My hands tensed, curling into fists around the edges of the cot I was sitting on.

  ‘Well, Miss Linton…let’s have a little chat, shall we?’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ I told him, while my eyes flicked around the bare, rough wooden room, searching for a way to escape. One door - blocked. One window - but too small to fit through. Damn! ‘Let’s let me go, shall we?’

  ‘Ha! You’re quite amusing. I begin to see why Mr Ambrose keeps you around.’ In a flash, he was in front of me, gripping my chin between two long, aristocratic fingers. His steel-blue eyes bored into mine. ‘Listen here, Miss Linton. I took you, I have you, and I can do anything I want with you. You had better get used to that fact. And as long as you are in my power, you had better not do or say anything to displease me or the consequences will be…grave. Do we understand each other?’

  Ah. He was one of those men. He enjoyed this.

  ‘Yes.’ I met his gaze head-on. ‘I understand perfectly.’

  ‘Very well.’ Letting go, Lord Dalgliesh turned away and marched to the window. It was covered by a few hastily sewn-together hides nailed to the wall. Whatever this place was, Buckingham Palace it was not. Lifting the hides a few inches, Lord Dalgliesh peered outside.

  ‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘The snow is falling fast. By the time that fool Ambrose notices she’s gone, our tracks will long be covered. You laid a false trail, like I ordered, Brewer?’

  The footman nodded. ‘Yes, My Lord.’

  ‘And Whittock? Has he left the message?’

  ‘Yes, My Lord.’

  ‘Very good. Very good indeed.’

  Message? I felt a cold fist clamp down around my heart. There was only man they would have left a message for.

  ‘What do you want with Mr Ambrose?’ I demanded, sitting up straight and glaring at Dalgliesh’s back.

  Letting go of the window’s leather covering, he turned to face me. ‘Will you look at that? Our resident damsel has brains between her ears. I wonder…does she have enough to answer her own question, the answer to which, I must admit, should be rather obvious?’

  Suppressing my intense desire to slap him across the face, I cocked my head. They had sent a message to Mr Ambrose, after kidnapping me. He was right. It was rather obvious.

  ‘You plan to blackmail him.’

  ‘Blackmail is such an ugly word,’ he said, waving a hand. But then a smile spread over his face that sent a shiver down my back. ‘On the other hand, I like ugly words. Particularly when applied to my enemies.’

  I did my best to laugh haughtily. ‘It won’t work! Blackmail Mr Rikkard Ambrose? It’s impossible! He doesn’t care about anything or anyone, pounds sterling excepted.’

  ‘You know…’ Thoughtfully, Lord Dalgliesh tapped his chin. ‘I thought the same thing only a short while ago. But then you came along. I had my initial suspicions when I first saw the two of you dancing together at Lady Metcalf’s ball. Still, I thought to myself “No, this is Rikkard Ambrose. It can’t be.” Of course, I had you investigated nonetheless, and I discovered that Mr Ambrose’s secretary had the same name as you do - but from what I could find out, neither he nor Mr Ambrose were connected to you in any other way. And then, when you made no other appearance in his life, I began to think it was nothing. I began to forget - until I received a very interesting letter from my agent in Newcastle.’

  His Lordship slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a letter on thin, rumpled paper. It looked so insignificant. Hard to believe that such a thing could spell my doom.

  ‘Urgent!’ Lord Dalgliesh read in that sleek, aristocratic voice. ‘Ambrose spotted with male and female companions in Newcastle. Last known location: London. Companions: Bodyguard, deputy manager, secretary Linton, and…’ He looked up, meeting my eyes. ‘…and unknown female.’

  I swallowed.

  ‘Imagine my surprise, Miss Linton, when I discovered that “unknown female” was in fact you. The only woman whom Mr Ambrose was ever known to dance with without an ulterior motive. The only woman who’d brave danger for him. The only woman he ever invited to meet his family.’

  Flipping the letter shut, he gave me a look.

  I answered it by raising an eyebrow. ‘What, you think meeting the The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose is a mark of distinction Mr Ambrose bestows on a lady? I would rather see it as a threat, or a method to efficiently make her lose interest.’

  His Lordship chuckled. ‘Ah, yes. The marquess has some less than pleasing qualities. But then…so has his son.’

  Shut up! Shut up! You slimeball, you don’t know what you are talking about! There’s only one person who’s allowed to insult Rikkard Ambrose, and that’s me!

  ‘If you’re willing to put up with one, I very much doubt you’d balk at the other. In any case, this isn’t about
the marquess’s likability. This is about Mr Rikkard Ambrose, after ten years, suddenly returning to his family. A month ago, I would have said he cared about them as much as he does about a rock in the Kalahari Desert - one without gold ore inside. He let them stew for over a decade. I would have said he never wanted anything to do with them again. And then you somehow managed to get him up here.’ He gave three long, slow claps. ‘Impressive. Quite impressive. Too bad you will not be reaping the rewards of your labours.’

  ‘What happened?’ I demanded, teeth gritted. ‘What the hell did you do to the Ambroses? What could anyone do to sow so much hatred between father and son?’

  ‘What? He didn’t tell you?’ A mocking aristocratic eyebrow rose. ‘Dear me. You must not have him as tightly wrapped around your finger as I thought.’

  ‘Right now, I’d like to wrap something around your neck!’

  ‘Tut, tut. Such unladylike language.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘Hm…’ He started walking, circling me like a predator would a prospective victim. ‘I wonder what would be more amusing…to tell you, or to leave you wondering…’

  ‘Tell me! What did you do?’

  ‘Hm…interesting how you automatically assume it was me.’

  My head snapped around. ‘It wasn’t?’

  He smirked. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me, I was, shall we say…the catalyst for the happy event? But it needn’t have ended in their family breaking apart. Oh no, that the Ambroses managed all on their own.’ Passing out of my sight, he moved behind me, his voice making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. ‘You see, thanks to my help, it came to a little disagreement between the marquess and his son. Not being quite so cool and composed back then, he went into battle with a vengeance. The old man responded in kind and…well, things took their course. From what I’ve been able to learn, they shouted at each other loud enough to make the walls rattle, until finally the marquess told his son to get out.’

  One of his fingers touched my cheek, and I shuddered.

  ‘And he did,’ Lord Dalgliesh whispered. ‘And didn’t return for over ten years.’

  Oh God…

  I didn’t want to believe it - but I could see. Two proud men, father and son, raging at each other, unwilling to give in…and then the fatal words.