by Robert Thier
Two minutes later I sat on cool ceramic, sighing in contentment - probably the first time ever I had felt contentment within the walls of Empire House, 322 Leadenhall Street.
As my feeling of contentment slowly faded, my thoughts drifted to Mr Ambrose’s behaviour. I couldn’t make head or tail of it. Why would he lock me in like this? To prevent me from drinking and thus being distracted from my work? But that was preposterous! If I were in danger of becoming a drunkard, if I were to run away and succumb to alcohol during my work hours, then he would have the perfect excuse to dismiss me - exactly what he had been waiting for all along. So why should he try to prevent that? To want to keep me from drinking to excess, that wasn’t the act of an employer for whom one employee was like another, easily exchangeable. It sounded more like the act of somebody who cared about my safety…
Who cared about me.
I slammed the door on that thought immediately. I slammed it so hard I almost thought I heard the sound of a door shut with my actual ears.
Then, when I heard Karim’s voice from outside the powder room, I realized I had heard a door shut: the door of Mr Ambrose’s office!
‘Sahib?’
Mr Ambrose’s reply was unintelligible. His cool voice was much quieter than the rumble of the mountainous Mohammedan.
Quickly, I jumped up and pulled up my trousers. This male outfit was pretty nifty. Had I been in a dress and crinoline, it would have taken me a quarter of an hour to get up from the toilet. As it was, I was up and across the room in a few seconds, my ear pressed against the keyhole.
‘…perimeter is watched closely, Sahib. We have been asking questions - it seems, no unusual shipments have gone out.’
‘So it might be that the file is still there?’
My ears grew to the size of bat ears. They were talking about the stolen file!
‘Yes, Sahib.’
Yes! Dalgliesh hadn’t gotten away with it yet, that slimy little… incredibly powerful peer of the British Empire.
‘And what about the house itself? Number 97, East India Dock Road?’
That was it! That was the address I had discovered. I remembered that much from last night and knew that this part had not been a dream.
‘It is better guarded than the Queen’s hulks[48], Sahib. Men with swords and guns are everywhere, some even professional soldiers. Something is in there, that much is sure.’
‘I see. We will go ahead as planned then.’
Go in? As planned?
Was there something planned? And if so, what? And most importantly, why hadn’t I been told? It had been I who discovered the ruddy place, after all!
‘Be ready in three days. I shall need all the things on list I gave you by then.’
Three days? And then… what? What were they going to do? Just march up to the doorstep and demand that they be given back the file? No, that couldn’t be it. But the only other explanation could be…
A shiver went down my back.
Secret preparations. Scouting. These words sounded familiar. They sounded like something you would do when you were planning something illegal.
‘Sahib… I must once more raise the matter of-’
‘No! Karim, we discussed this.’
‘Still, Sahib, going in there by yourself…’
Violently, I jerked away from the keyhole and stared at it in disbelief. But as soon as they started speaking again, I pressed my ear back against the metal. Surely I could not have heard right!
‘I have always done what needed doing myself.’
He had? Damn and blast the arrogant bastard!
‘Yes, you have, Sahib. In the colonies, when we were dealing with bandits, and gold-diggers and other fools who thought too highly of themselves. This is an operation of Dalgliesh’s, Sahib.’ Karim’s voice hesitated. ‘You know what happened the last time you faced him, Sahib.’
The silence that erupted on the other side of the door could have cut iron.
What? What happened? Lord Dalgliesh and Mr Ambrose have met before? Go on! What happened? I want to know!
Silence.
Speak up, blast you!
Silence.
Then, a voice. But not the one I had been hoping to hear.
‘I… am sorry, Sahib.’
‘I will go alone.’ Mr Ambrose voice was as cutting and cold as his silence had been. ‘Who else can I trust to do it right?’
‘You can trust me, Sahib.’ If I wasn’t very much mistaken, I could hear something like hurt in the bearded mountain’s voice.
‘I know. Which is why I need you to say here to keep an eye on things.’
‘I… Very well. As you wish, Sahib.’
To the dickens with the Sahib’s wishes! Mr Ambrose was not going alone! I was going to stick with him, if it was the last thing I did!
If there had been other men in the room, they might have exchanged a few pleasantries before breaking up the meeting. But I had learned enough about Mr Ambrose by now to know that he wasn’t given to chatter. Karim left the room, and I hastily got up off the powder room floor, dusted off my knees and cracked the door open, peeking out.
Mr Ambrose was sitting behind his desk. When I entered, he looked up from the papers he was studying, meeting my gaze coolly. I had to catch my breath when I looked into his eyes. How come I had never noticed quite how beautiful their deep, dark depths were until this moment?
‘You heard.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Then forget what you heard.’
‘I cannot do that, Sir.’
‘Oh? I gave you an order.’
‘You can take your order and stick it up your- um, I mean you can take your order and feed it to the ducks in Green Park! I’m coming with you!’
There was no need to say when and where. We both knew what I was referring to.
‘No.’
‘Yes, I am!’
‘No, you are not.’ His eyes glittered with frost. ‘Mr Linton - believe me when I say that if we could recapture the file by excessive consumption of alcohol, you would be in the front lines. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and I therefore decline your request.’
‘It was no request! I can’t let you go in there alone!’
‘You can, and you will.’
Dear God! Had he always been like this? Was this why his wife had left him and was bombarding him with pink letters? Were they living apart? But why would she be sending him letters if they were parted?
Although I had to admit to my shame that, in her place, I might be sending him letters, too, just to have him snap back at me.
In defiance, I shook my head. ‘I won’t let you go alone! I won’t!’
‘Yes, you will.’
‘But…’ For some reason my voice was unsteady. ‘But Karim said… he said armed guards. You could be hurt out there or… or killed.’
Silence.
‘At least tell me what it is,’ I pleaded. ‘Tell me what that damned file is! Tell me what is worth risking your life for!’
The silence stretched between us as we gazed at each other.
He swallowed.
‘You want to know what’s in the file?’ he asked, his voice like a raw winter blizzard. ‘You really want to know?’
‘Yes.’ My voice - small, tense, expectant - was nothing like his.
‘In the file,’ he said, ‘is the centre of the world.’
Different Sorts of Silence
I stared at him, uncomprehending. His words had registered, but I had no idea of their actual meaning.
The centre of the world.
‘Forgive me, Sir, but I don't…’
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally.
‘Get out.’
‘What?’
‘You understood me, I believe? I have told you what you wanted to know. Now get out! And shut the door behind you.’
‘But-’
‘This is an order!’
My hands opened and closed in hel
pless anger. I had no choice. I had to obey or be dismissed. And right now, I could see he was hungry for me to give him the chance. His words came back to me, ringing loudly in my head - affection is not among the services I require of you. What was I doing? Why was I arguing to risk my life alongside him? I whirled on the spot and stormed out of his room, into mine.
My room. The centre of my world. But not the centre of all the world.
The centre of the world… The words echoed in my head with ominous significance. What on earth could he have meant?
He didn’t give me much chance to ponder his strange revelation. As soon as I was in my office again, the door firmly shut behind me, I heard him get up from his chair and lock the door from the other side. It didn’t take long until I heard a familiar plink from the wall beside my desk.
The rest of the workday went by in a blur of fetching papers, and plinks and trying not to worry about the writer of the pink letters or what Mr Ambrose intended to do.
I shook my head. He couldn’t really be planning to break into Lord Dalgliesh’s…?
No!
I mean, he was a businessman, not the leader of some street gang. Though… he hadn’t practised his business here in London, I remembered, but in some corner of the former colonies. The West of America, if I remembered correctly? There was something about that region… I seemed to recall having heard it called the ‘Wild West’ once.
Personally, I couldn’t see what was so wild about it. From the few pictures I had seen, it was a country just like any other, with trees, rivers, mountains and people.
Though, now that I thought about it, most of the people in the pictures I had seen had carried guns.
Just like the guards at Lord Dalgliesh’s headquarters.
Mr Ambrose couldn’t be planning to do what I was thinking he was planning to do, could he?
Really? Not even for the centre of the world?
*~*~**~*~*
It was about seven pm when the messages stopped coming though the pneumatic tube. Some minutes later, I heard keys rustling, and a slightly confused-looking Mr Stone unlocked the door to my office.
‘Um… Mr Linton? Mr Ambrose instructed me to “let the Ifrit out of the dungeon”, as he put it. Was he referring to you?’
Had I been in a better mood, I might have grinned. But now, only a scowl managed to make its way onto my face.
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ Mr Stone cleared his throat. ‘Um… excuse me, but I still don't quite see what his words actually mean. Could you explain, perhaps?’
‘No!’
‘Oh. Very well, then… I suppose I’d better pack my things and go. Until tomorrow, Mr Linton.’
Grumbling a response, I rushed past him and down the hallway. Maybe, just maybe, I could still catch Mr Ambrose before he left the building. I raced down and into the main hall at breakneck speed. Just as I stormed into the giant stone monument that was the entrance hall of Empire House, I saw the end of a black tailcoat disappearing through the front door.
‘Wait!’ I shouted, and all eyes turned towards me as I ran across the hall. Over the slap of my footsteps on the polished stone floor I could hear the whispered words ‘secretary’ and ‘new’ and ‘replacement’ echoing from all around me.
Wait, I wanted to shout again. What about the centre of the world? What is it? Where is it? How can it be on a piece of paper?
But I knew better than to speak those words aloud. I might not know what the ‘centre of the world’ was - but I knew the words had power. If I let them become common knowledge, I was as good as dead. With a last burst of effort, I threw myself after him. He would not escape me! He would tell me everything! Finally, I was at the door and, pushing it open, jumped outside - only to see a chaise, drawn by a beastly grey horse, disappearing in the distance.
I uttered some very unladylike words.
But there was nothing to be done. For now, he was gone. And gone with him was the chance to convince him to explain his mysterious words, the chance to convince him to let me go with him. For now, I could do nothing.
But, I had to remember, I still had three days to convince him to let me in on the secret, and to make me part of his plans. There was another occasion coming for which the timetable was slightly more pressing.
Turning the other way, I started down the street, towards home.
Another centre of my world…
As soon as I turned into our street, I could see that the preparations for the ball were in full flow. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I could hear, rather than see.
‘Faster, faster, girls, the carriage will be here in less than an hour! What are you thinking, still running around only half-dressed? What if he should happen to arrive early? Maria, your hair looks like a haystack! Take it down again. No, here, let me. Someone fetch me a comb! And where in heaven’s name is Lillian?’
Quickly, I glanced around, to see whether any of the neighbours were around to hear. None of them were outside, but my aunt’s tirade was audible out here in the street, with all the doors and windows closed. What did a few additional walls mean to a shriek as impressive as hers?
‘Leadfield! Go and look for Lilly, and bring her to me as quickly as your feet can carry you!’
Good. That meant I had plenty of time.
‘And bring Ella, too, if you can find her. What she is thinking…’
Ella wasn’t with them? My breathing quickened, and I hastened my steps. Soon I was past the front entrance and at the door to the back garden. Unlocking it and slipping through, I made my way to the garden shed and disappeared into the shelter of its darkness.
I was probably less than presentable when I did up the laces of my dress, but since I would take it off and exchange it for my makeshift ball gown as soon as I was in the house, I didn’t think much of the fact. I was too concerned about the fact that my aunt hadn’t been able to find Ella.
Dear God! She didn’t… she couldn’t just…?
No! Not without saying goodbye to me!
Don’t jump to conclusions, I told myself. It doesn't have to mean the worst.
The worst.
What I had feared all along.
That she had run away.
In a dash, I crossed the last bit of distance to the door and pushed it open.
No. It didn’t have to mean she had run away. She could be in a part of the house they hadn’t thought to look in, or she could be on a walk, or she…
…could be hurrying across the garden right in front of me!
There she was! Even in the darkness, that white gown and golden hair were unmistakable!
Like a flash, I was back inside the shed, the door open only a crack now, just enough to allow me to see through. There could be only one reason why Ella would visit the garden at this hour, only one person she could have come to see.
As if my thinking of him had conjured him up, Edmund appeared from between the bushes on the other side of the fence. Ella gave a little cry and hurried towards him. She was already in her ball gown and not caring a bit if she got grass stains on it. I had to admit, this was real love. Or at least a very convincing imitation.
‘Ella, my love!’
‘Edmund, my love!’
They ran towards each other as if they wanted to jump into each other’s arms. Fortunately, they remembered the fence in time and didn’t crack their skulls.
Instead, they just clasped hands. A much wiser policy.
‘Oh, Ella, my love, is it true what I have heard?’
‘I don't know. What have you heard, my love?’
‘That there is to be another ball at Lady Metcalf’s this evening, and that Sir Wilkins is taking you. I heard something of that mentioned by Mrs Richardson, and now I hear that your house is busy…’
Busy. What a very diplomatic way to describe my aunt’s forceful tones.
‘Say it isn’t so, Ella, my love!’
‘Alas, I cannot, Edmund. For we are indeed invited to Lady Metc
alf’s ball, which is tonight…’
‘And…?’
‘…and Sir Wilkins is taking us.’
‘Taking you, you mean to say.’
‘We will all go. I, Aunt, Gertrude, Lisbeth…’
Edmund’s eyes were aflame. ‘But it is you he wants there. You he wants with him!’
Ella shuddered, her hands slipping from his.
‘Don’t you think I know this?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you think I wish every waking moment it weren’t so? But I cannot wish him away!’
Edmund’s freed hands balled into fists. ‘Neither can I. I have tried often enough.’
‘But…’ Ella hesitated.
‘But what, Ella, my love?’
‘But maybe I can wish myself away.’
He looked confused. Ella hesitated again, then suddenly set her small chin and looked up at him.
‘Take me with you,’ she said, her voice trembling, her eyes two shining pleas. ‘I do not wish to go to this ball. I do not wish to dance with Sir Philip. I do not wish to be in any man’s arms but yours. Take me away from the place, just as you said you would.’
‘Tonight? Now? But Ella, the preparations…’
‘I don't care about preparations! I only care that I love you, and that I want to be with you. Take me away, Edmund, please!’
Edmund closed his eyes.
‘I am sorry, my love, but I cannot,’ he whispered. ‘I could not yet procure a marriage license. And I will not soil your honour by taking you without the knowledge that I can make you my wife, to love and to hold.’
There were tears in Ella’s eyes.
‘Then, it is adieu for us, Edmund. I shall go to the ball. You will procure a license as quickly as you can, I know that. Just… just don't take too long. And know that whatever might happen, my heart will always be yours.’
‘Whatever might happen?’ His eyes snapped open, hearing the weight of her words. ‘You don't mean to say that… Ella, you don't think Sir Philip will chose tonight to ask you to… oh, I cannot even say the words! Tell me, darling! Tell me that it will not be tonight!’
Ella remained silent. I had spent enough time around Mr Ambrose to be able to distinguish different kinds of silence. Hers was the silence of someone who wished to speak, but could not.