by Robert Thier
We discussed our plans for the anti-suffragist meeting and then disbanded not long after. I arrived home late for dinner, but so many flowers from Sir Philip had arrived in my absence that my aunt didn’t even make a sharp comment. She was in heaven. When Ella sprang up after dinner, I was ready and followed like the watchdog I was.
Our Romeo on duty was waiting just beyond the fence, an incandescent smile on his face, his arms held out at his sides as if to catch Ella when she would come rushing towards him. Only when she had crossed about half the distance did he seem to realize that because of the metal barrier in the way, that wouldn’t be quite possible, and he lowered his arms.
His smile didn’t become any less incandescent, though.
‘Ella, my love!’ He breathed, gripping the poles of the fence with both hands.
‘Edmund, my love,’ she breathed back. ‘Finally! I’ve nearly been driven to distraction, waiting all day! Not knowing what will happen and when is pure torture! When will we leave?’
I leant forward as far as I could. This was the question I had come to hear the answer to, the question the answer to which would determine whether I could work on a plan to get rid of Wilkins or whether I would have to take Patsy up on her offer of parasolical violence. My heart started to pound faster in my chest as I stared at Edmund, the man who held my sister’s fate in his hands.
Why wasn’t he saying anything?
Why was he just standing there?
Finally, he took a deep breath and leant forward until his lips were almost at her ear - and whispered something in a low voice I couldn’t hear!
I couldn’t believe it! He had whispered! The whole evening they had conducted their secret affair in the back garden in perfectly audible voices, and now, when it would actually had been useful for something to be audible for a change, that son of a bachelor decided to whisper!
Ella’s eyes went wide.
‘So soon?’
Soon? What does that mean, soon? Tomorrow? The day after?
Or did she have a different conception of ‘soon’? Could it be weeks still? Edmund had said it would take time to procure a marriage license, so it couldn’t just be a few days, could it? But then why had she said 'soon'?
The anxiety tortured me. I wanted to run over to the man who wanted to steal my sister away from her family and shake the truth out of him, but that would kind of have given the game away. So I stayed put and tried to take deep, calming breaths.
‘It’s not really that soon,’ Edmund replied.
Wait? What’s that supposed to mean? Is it soon or isn’t it?
‘I think it’s quite soon,’ Ella said. ‘I have to pack, remember?’
‘Yes, but remember, we will travel light, my love. We have to, in order to get away quickly.’
She bit her lip. ‘You’re right. Yes, if I don't have to pack too much, it’s not that soon. I think I can manage.’
Argh! This is maddening!
‘If I could, I would leave tonight with you,’ Edmund whispered. ‘I’ve done the best I can, but it still will take so long to get a marriage license. I only hope Sir Philip does not make his intentions clear before then. If he does, if all our hopes and dreams are smashed…’
‘Hush!’ Ella raised her slender hand, gently touching his lips with her forefinger and silencing him. ‘Everything will go well. I have no doubt. I trust you, my love.’
His answering smile was melancholic.
‘I only wish I had that much faith in myself.’
‘And do you know the exact time of day when we will leave?’ Ella asked, clearly in an effort to distract him from his dark mood.
I perked up. This was something! Maybe I’d know this much at least! Maybe I could lie in wait every day and make sure they didn’t get away without me noticing!
Edmund shook his head. ‘No, my love, I’m sorry. It depends on when I can get an inconspicuous coach to bring us out of town.’
This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t!
‘So how will I know when it’s time to leave, Edmund, my darling?’
‘That is the very best part of my plan,’ he whispered conspiratorially. ‘When the time is upon us to flee, I shall change the curtains in the window of my room.’
He pointed up to a small rectangular window in his parents’ house that pointed towards their back garden. ‘You see that now they are white? I shall change them to red curtains when the time for our elopement has arrived.’
‘Oh Edmund! You are so clever!’
‘Well… actually I got the idea from a book…’
‘Clever and well-read! My dream man!’
‘Am I really?’
‘Of course you are! Let me show you. Come closer, my love.’
‘Oh, my love! Only if you do, too.’
After that, the conversation was pretty much over. I turned discreetly away and, listening to the noises coming from the fence, did my best not to vomit into the rosebushes. It wasn’t easy. This was my sister we were talking of, after all.
Well, those were the burdens you had to carry when you were trying to save your sister from disgrace. Once this was over, I would really deserve a medal for my efforts.
Not that I had actually discovered a way to save her yet. And this problem had now abruptly become even more urgent than before. I had no idea how much time was still left before our piano-tuning pseudo-Casanova carried my sister off to parts unknown. The thought sickened me. Despite her brave speech from earlier, I knew she would be devastated to disappoint my aunt. She wasn’t like me, she was considerate of other people’s feelings. Some people were mad like that.
But what could I do? What could anyone do to prevent this disastrous turn of events? There didn’t seem to be anything that could make my aunt dislike Wilkins, and as for scaring him off in some way, I hardly believed it would be possible. His infatuations with Maria, Anne and even Patsy seemed to have been just passing fancies, but he appeared pretty stuck on Ella.
The question was now - how to unstick him in time. Was that even a verb, unstick? I would have to look that up in a dictionary. After I had saved my sister’s honour and reputation, of course.
I remained quite a while behind the bushes while Ella and Edmund exchanged sweet nothings at the fence. Fortunately, I had brought a book with me: one of my favourites, a historical retelling of the story of Jeanne d’Arc, the woman who had almost single-handedly thrown the English out of France during the Hundred Years' War. I did my best to plunge myself into the narrative. I admired Jeanne d'Arc deeply and felt a deep spiritual connection to her - not because I was secretly French, but because I, too, often felt the urge to chase after English men with a sharp sword in my hand. If I were Jeanne d’Arc and had a sword of my own, I wouldn’t have any problems with disposing of Wilkins!
Finally, the two lovebirds at the fence seemed to remember that there was such a thing as sleep, which was usually accomplished at nighttime, and parted from one another with many apologies and promises to see each other again soon. I waited until Ella had passed my hiding place, shut the book upon my heroine’s story with a regretful sigh, and followed Ella into the house. When I entered our bedroom upstairs, Ella had already curled into a tight ball under her blankets.
I lay down in my own bed and recapitulated my to-do list for tomorrow:
- bring back two books to the lending library
- refine plans to foil the masculine plot to undermine women’s suffrage
- save Ella from eternal shame and dishonour
I frowned. Hadn’t I forgotten something? Something I had to do tomorrow?
Then the memory dropped back into my mind like a red-hot piece of coal. Of course. Tomorrow was Monday. And on Monday I had to go back to the office. To Mr Ambrose.
Other memories returned. Mr Ambrose entering the ballroom, Mr Ambrose whirling me around and around on the dance floor with the grace and precision of a clockwork dancing master, strong and contained. Mr Ambrose staring at Miss Hamilton with
an intensity with which he had never looked at me…
Wait just a second! Where had that thought come from? Why would you want Mr Ambrose to look at you? You want him to employ you, and that’s it! Looking at you has nothing to do with it!
Only, maybe it had. If he couldn’t even bring himself to look at me, how could he bring himself to accept me as a female and one of his employees? Yes. I wanted his acceptance as an independent lady, that was all.
Angrily, I punched my cushion and turned onto my other side. Damn the man! Why did he have to pop into my head now? My mind belonged on saving Ella, and maybe also on saving the future suffrage of women from men’s chauvinism, but not on him. Most certainly not on him.
So why was it that as I drifted off to sleep, all I could think of was the feel of his arms around me as he danced with me at yesterday’s ball?
*~*~**~*~*
The fact that I had still not discovered the answer to the question by next morning didn’t exactly improve my mood. I got up at an unearthly hour, went through the routine of switching clothes and left the house. I needed to clear my head, and the cold morning air was just the way to do it.
Besides, maybe I could force Mr Ambrose to look at me at least once by turning up three hours early.
I turned into Leadenhall Street and marched towards my destination. This early in the morning, the foggy streets were pretty much empty of people. Thus, the two huge shapes that dominated the street were even more overpowering than usual: On the left, the stark, towering Empire House; on the right the broad, elegant façade of East India House. The two buildings facing off over the street like that reminded me of Mr Ambrose and Lord Dalgliesh shaking hands in the ballroom. Just as they had back then, this confrontational stance looked almost… threatening.
Shaking my head, I looked away from East India House and started up the stairs of my workplace. I was being fanciful.
Only when I reached the door of Empire House did it occur to me to wonder how I might get into the building. As yet, it seemed to be deserted. The door was firmly locked, and when I peered in through one of the high, narrow windows, I couldn’t see a soul inside. I couldn’t even see somebody without a soul inside - a condition, I was sure, that applied to many of the men who normally occupied its bustling halls, especially the one who paid all the others.
As I walked back from the window to the front door, something clinked in my pocket. Of course! The ring of keys Mr Ambrose had given me. How could I have not thought of it before?
Well, if I thought about it, it wasn’t that surprising. There surely wouldn’t be a key to the front door on the ring, not after the defection of Mr Ambrose’s last secretary and considering the fact that I didn’t have the right gender. He wouldn’t trust me in a million years!
But it can’t hurt to try, right? After all, you’re already here.
I stuck the first key into the keyhole, although I had already seen that it was much too small. Of course, it didn’t fit. Neither did the second, nor the third, although they seemed to be of more appropriate shape. I shoved another one into the keyhole, knowing already that this, too, wouldn’t work, although it looked deceptively fitting. I tried to turn it.
There was a click, and the lock snapped open.
I stared at the door in disbelief.
Cautiously, I stretched out a hand and pushed against it. It swung open a few inches with an eerie squeak, then stopped. I pushed again, and it opened far enough for a human being to enter. Maybe I was hallucinating? Maybe the door had already been unlocked? Quickly, I slipped inside and faced a vast hall of empty silence. No Sallow-face behind the desk, no multitude of clerks hurrying about, doing Mammon only knows what. I hadn’t been mistaken: the door had been firmly locked.
The key had worked. Could it actually be that Mr Ambrose trusted me?
Not letting myself think about this too deeply just now, I turned around, pulled the door shut hurriedly and locked it after me. Then I began the long ascent to my office, my stomach churning all the way. How would Mr Ambrose treat me after what had happened at the ball? What would he think of me? Did he think even less of me now, because he had seen me in a dress and been reminded of the fact that I was female?
My hands balled into fists at the very thought. It just wasn’t fair that he would stare at this Miss Hamilton like she was the most precious thing on earth to him, while treating me like a piece of dirt! She was just as female as I was! In fact, a darn sight more obviously female, considering the rather revealing nature of her dress. Just because I wanted to be independent and earn my living, I wasn’t supposed to be entitled to the same treatment as she? I wouldn’t allow that! I would force him to respect me. And I would start by giving him a nice surprise.
Since you’re so early… How about waiting in his office and, when he arrives, making some very smart remark about him being a bit late for work?
I grinned. That would nettle him to no end, I was sure!
With light steps I crossed the length of the hallway and stuck the right key into the keyhole when I reached the door to his office. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he arrived and I was already there, waiting for him.
The door swung open - revealing a Mr Rikkard Ambrose, sitting straight as a ruler behind his dark wood desk, studying papers. He glanced up briefly from the papers he was reading, his cool expression not altering in the slightest.
‘Ah, Mr Linton. You are here, finally.’
Bloody Work
Looking down at his papers again, Mr Ambrose gestured to a pile of files and a box beside him on the desk. ‘Deposit these in that box over there, will you?’
I gaped at him, speechless. It was five in the morning!
When, after a few moments, he noticed that I still hadn’t moved, he looked up again. Mr Ambrose would never go so far as to actually raise a questioning eyebrow, but he didn’t need to.
‘You are still standing, although I gave you an order. Any particular reason?’
‘Do you sleep here or what?’ I demanded indignantly.
He looked down again.
‘Why so interested in my sleeping arrangements, Mr Linton? Were you thinking of joining me? If so, I must disappoint you. I do have a bed here, but it would not be wide enough.’
Several things ran through my mind at the moment which I could throw at him, none of which were fit for polite conversation and all of which were likely to get me sacked on the spot. I swallowed my anger and hoped it wouldn’t give me indigestion.
Instead I said: ‘I am three hours early, Mr Ambrose.’
He nodded.
‘Yes, I noticed. Now stop dawdling and take care of those files. Return to me when you are done. Since you are here, I have something else for you to do.’
I went and got the files, praying vehemently that the ‘something’ he wanted me to do involved a sharp sword and the severing of his head from his body. In no time at all I was back in front of his desk, and I still had not exploded or run to get sharp weapons. I was rather impressed with myself.
‘The files are stored as ordered, Mr Ambrose, Sir,’ I said in as sweet a tone as I could manage.
‘I see.’
No ‘Well done’ or ‘Thank you’. He didn’t even raise his head from his papers.
‘Sir? What is it you wished me to do?’
‘To wait until I have finished reading. Then I will give your instructions.’
I closed my eyes and slowly counted to ten to calm myself. Unfortunately, it didn’t work, so I continued to fifteen and then to twenty. But when I reached fifty, I was still just as infuriated as I had been at one. Did he have to be so… cool? So distant?
51, 52, 53…
Well, he was Mr Ambrose, so he was naturally about as warm and welcoming as a freshly calved iceberg, but still. It aggravated me more now than it had before, having seen, in contrast, his infatuated behaviour towards that bloody female the other night at the ball.
64, 65, 66, 67…
And of course he
had to have horrible taste in ladies! I wouldn’t have minded if she had been a halfway decent creature, but this Hamilton person was a femme fatale and would leach all the life and money he had out of him.
‘Mr Linton?’
79, 80, 81…
I was incredulous that he couldn’t see it or that he couldn’t find a better woman.
‘Mr Linton!’
He should be able to find another. After all, he was, I had to admit, abominably handsome. Very, very handsome…
97, 98, 99…
‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, I am talking to you!’
‘What?’ My eyes flew open and I blinked at Mr Ambrose, who was staring at me coolly over the top of his business papers.
‘Mr Linton, I have called your name about five times now and you have been just standing there with your eyes closed. If you are not fully awake yet, I had rather you return home and waste your own time sleeping there than waste my time here. There is work to do.’
I raised my chin and met his gaze unflinchingly.
‘I am completely awake, Sir.’
‘Indeed? Then go and fetch a small leather-bound volume out of the left part of the lowest drawer of your desk. And keep your eyes open while you are walking, will you? I would hate for you to walk against a wall by accident.’
I managed a smile, though I doubt it was very polite.
‘Thank you for the concern for my welfare, Sir.’
He had put his papers aside now, but still he hadn’t looked up. Instead, he was methodically arranging them into several small piles.
‘Who said anything about your welfare, Mr Linton? Stone walls are quite expensive, and I would not like to have to spend money on repairing any cracks.’
I got out of there before I committed a justifiable murder, and marched through my office towards the desk. Of course he had been right, blast him. There was indeed a small, leather-bound book in the lowest drawer of the desk, in the back left corner. I retrieved it and opened it out of curiosity.
‘Bring it directly to me,’ his voice sounded from the other room. ‘There’s nothing in there that would interest you particularly, I can promise you.’