Silence Is Golden

by Robert Thier

My hands clenched into fists. ‘I thought so.’

  ‘But I’ll be watching.’ The old lady winked at me, and started away. ‘It’ll be interesting to see who emerges as the victor.’

  I took another step back. But it was too late. He was already upon me.

  ‘Miss Linton!’ There was a radiant smile on Morton Marmeduke Fitzgerald’s face as he beamed up at me. Yes, up at me. Have I neglected to mention that, besides being round and balding, he’s about half a head shorter than me? And he was smiling as if I were Father Christmas, the Easter bunny and Venus the love goddess all rolled into one. ‘I’m so happy to see you were able to come!’

  Before I could tell him ‘Well, I’m not’, he grasped my hand and bowed deeply. ‘May I ask you for the honour of the next dance?’

  I was just about to tell him to go bugger himself, when, over his head, I caught a glimpse of my aunt giving me one of her special looks. I cleared my throat.

  ‘Um…of course, Mr Fitzgerald. I’d be delighted.’

  What was one dance, after all? I could use it to demonstrate exactly why he would not like to marry me. Experimentally, I clacked my heels against the ballroom floor. As luck would have it, I was wearing good, stout shoes. Exactly the wrong kind of shoes for dancing. Excellent!

  ‘Thank you, Miss Linton!’ Beaming like a cherub on cloud nine, he took a tighter hold of my hand and led me onto the dance floor. The musicians struck up the tones of a waltz. ‘These,’ he told me, his round face shining, ‘will be the happiest minutes of my life.’

  Oh, Mister…You’ve got that so wrong. Just wait and see. Or rather - feel.

  Tam-ta-tam, tam-ta-tam…

  The melody of the waltz picked up, and we started circling. I waited until the press of bodies around us brought us a little bit closer, then - wham! - my foot struck out.

  ‘And?’ I asked with a bright smile. ‘How are you enjoying the dance so far?’

  He smiled back up at me. ‘Very much, Miss Linton.’

  What? Had I heard correctly? Maybe I had missed. Although I could have sworn I heard the distinctive crunch of leather under my foot.

  ‘Really?’ My smile widened. ‘How fascinating.’

  I raised a foot again.

  Wham!

  ‘You don’t think that my dancing style might be a little bit out of step?’

  Wham! Wham!

  ‘Of course not, Miss Linton! Whyever would I think that?’

  Oh, I don’t know…Maybe because I’m stepping on your feet, you moron?

  ‘In fact, I think you are a lovely dancer,’ he added and - horror of horrors - pulled me closer! ‘And a lovely girl, too.’

  I shoved him away as gently as possible, then slammed my heel on his foot again. No reaction. Well, except for a contented sigh.

  ‘Truly,’ he murmured, his eyes half-closed in bliss. ‘A wonderful dancer.’

  ‘Mr Fitzgerald?’

  Wham!

  ‘Yes, Miss Linton?’

  Wham! Wham! Come on…!

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘Yes, quite well, thank you.’

  Wham!

  ‘There’s not per chance anything wrong with your feet, is there?’

  ‘My feet? They are flying, inspired by your beauty.”

  I ground my teeth.

  ‘How kind of you.’

  Wham!

  Still nothing. Not the slightest reaction. What was wrong with this man?

  ‘Tell me, have you danced with many girls in your life?’

  He blushed, bringing a rosy hue to his round cheeks that made him look like a ripe apple. But that didn’t mean in the least that I had an urge to gobble him up. Oh no, not at all!

  ‘Not really, Miss Linton.’ He glanced down, then peeked up again. ‘You see, I’m a rather shy and withdrawn sort of person. I spend most of my time on my country estate, overseeing my tenant’s farms. Your aunt and I were not very well acquainted. We had only met once before. I was quite pleasantly surprised when she invited me to breakfast at your lovely home.’

  Well, I wasn’t!

  I lifted my foot once more. I had never been a quitter.

  Wham!

  ‘I don’t get out much, you see,’ Mr Fitzgerald added, shyly. ‘I don’t know why, but people - ladies in particular - don’t really seem to respond well to me.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  Well, you’re not responding very well to what I’m trying to do either!

  Wham!

  Nothing. Simply no reaction. Bloody hell! Did this fellow have toes at all?

  He sighed. ‘Yes, it is, unfortunately.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Fitzgerald. I can’t imagine why that is. You’re such a charming-’

  Wham!

  ‘-caring, kind man.’

  He gave another small sigh.

  ‘I suppose it’s because I’m not a particularly manly man, you know. I inherited my estate, and never have been really motivated to expand it or do anything except keep the land in good shape and the tenants happy. So most of my life has been spent in idle luxury. I’ve never really had to learn how to stand on my own two feet.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Wham! Wham! ‘Well, personally, I think you are doing extremely well at the feet thing.’

  He beamed. ‘Thank you, Miss Linton! That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!’

  After that, it was pretty much a lost cause. The man smiled at me as if he were a puppy and I his long-lost owner. He danced three more dances with me, and afterwards kissed my hand and said he would count the seconds till our paths crossed again. I’m not joking! Count the seconds! Seriously!

  Something had to be done.

  If my usual tactic of toe-destruction wouldn’t help in this case, I had to come up with something else.

  Hm…

  How could you signal to a man that you couldn’t stand him and didn’t want to have anything to do with him?

  Several options occurred to me immediately.

  A) Dump a bucket of horse dung over his head

  B) Kick him in the derriere

  C) Strangle him

  But none of these options could easily be accomplished in a ballroom, and particularly not under the watchful vulture eyes of my aunt. No, I had to come up with something more subtle, something more discreet.

  ‘Ah! That’s it!’ Snapping my fingers in sudden realisation, I plunged my hand into the pocket of my dress. There it was: after the parasol, the most dreaded weapon of any girl worth her salt. With a contented sigh, I pulled out the fan and let it snap open.

  Now for the tricky part.

  At the insistence of my aunt, I had spent weeks learning the secret language of the fan that, according to her, sophisticated ladies used to converse with their lovers, memorising the correct gestures for messages such as ‘kiss me’, ‘follow me’, and ‘I want to get engaged!’ Only, what my aunt didn’t know was that I had also spent considerable time in secret, learning other kinds of messages to communicate with a fan. Messages which I deemed much more useful.

  I turned in the direction where I had last seen Mr Morton Marmeduke Fitzgerald. The little half-bald man was just busy nibbling on some delicacy and conversing with a man in glasses. He caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back, holding his gaze.

  Carefully and distinctly, I drew the fan across my cheek.

  I-H-A-T-E-Y-O-U-I-H-A-T-E-Y-O-U-I-R-E-A-L-L-Y-H-A-T-E-Y-O-U!

  With a snap, I let the fan slam shut, opened it again, and repeated the motion.

  P-I-S-S-O-F-F-Y-O-U-B-A-S-T-A-R-D-P-I-S-S-O-F-F-Y-O-U-B-A-S-T-A-R-D-P-I-S-S-O-F-F-N-O-W!

  And, just to be absolutely sure I brought my message across, I placed the handle of the fan to my lips.

  Y-O-U-A-R-E-T-H-E-S-P-A-W-N-O-F-A-W-A-R-T-H-O-G!-A-R-E-A-L-L-Y-U-G-L-Y-W-A-R-T-H-O-G!-G-E-T-A-W-A-Y-F-R-O-M-M-E-O-R-I-L-L-D-U-M-P-A-B-U-C-K-E-T-O-F-C-R-A-P-O-V-E-R-Y-O-U-R-H-E-A-D!

  Well, the last message hadn’t been listed exactly like this in Mrs Flower’s Guide to the Fan Langua
ge for Proper Young Ladies. I might have had to improvise a bit, but still, I had surely gotten the message across.

  Mr Fitzgerald held my gaze for a moment - then nodded. Ah! Thank God! He had gotten the message. Sighing with relief, I turned away, and went in search of a waiter. I needed some stress relief. I headed towards the first man with a tray of canapés I spotted and tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes, Miss?’

  ‘Do you have solid chocolate?’

  Five minutes later, I was leaning against a column, my eyes closed and my mouth filled with the ambrosia and nectar that was solid chocolate melting slowly, when someone cleared his throat right in front of me. Unwilling to descend from my own personal heaven, I opened my eyes, and there, right in front of me, stood Morton Marmeduke Fitzgerald, his round face full of emotion.

  ‘Miss Linton?’

  ‘Yuff?’ I managed. Then I hurriedly swallowed, coughed, and repeated, in a tone that conveyed how not happy I was about having had to swallow my solid chocolate early: ‘Yes? What do you want?’

  ‘I saw your charming display of the fan language earlier.’ Mr Fitzgerald’s round eyes were shimmering. Were those tears threatening to spill over? Actual tears? ‘And I just wanted to say: I feel exactly the same!’

  ‘You do?’

  Then why are you standing right here in front of me instead of at the opposite end of the ballroom? Or better yet, at the opposite end of England?

  ‘Yes. When you drew your fan over your cheek so delicately, with such exquisite feminine grace, signalling to me that there are feelings of love for me burgeoning inside your heart…’

  Whoa! Hold your horses! Have what burgeoning inside what?

  ‘…it touched something deep inside me, Miss Linton. It really did. I did not have the courage before to approach you, but when you made your feelings known to me, it changed everything.’

  I made my feelings known to you all right, you moron! I told you I hate your guts, and the rest of you, too!

  Or…was that actually signalled by drawing the fan across the cheek? Wasn’t it by drawing it through the hand?

  No! It was the cheek! I’m sure!

  Well…almost.

  Mr Fitzgerald took a step closer, his eyes now definitely shining with tears. ‘At first I wasn’t sure. At first I couldn’t imagine how a girl like you could love a man like me, who is so obviously not worthy of her-’

  You got that right, Mister!

  ‘…but then I thought: Love crosses all boundaries!’

  What? No it doesn’t! Definitely not the very definite boundaries between you and me!

  ‘Still, I remained in doubt. Had I really seen what I’d thought I’d seen? Had you really sent me the signal I had hoped for? It was agonising, not knowing for certain. But then I saw your next gesture.’

  ‘My…next gesture?’

  OhpleaseGodletmehavegottenthatonerightpleasepleaseplease!

  ‘Yes! That delicate snap of the fan that told me you wanted to speak with me-’

  Ohnononononononooooo!

  ‘-and then, the final sign.’ He closed his eyes in rapture, and a shudder went through him. ‘The final signal that made it clear to me that you wished to know me as more than just a friend. Placing your fan onto your lips like that - asking me to kiss you.’

  What?

  ‘But please, rest assured,’ he added hurriedly, seeing the horrified expression on my face. ‘I am not a man to take advantage of young ladies. I will not kiss you until we are engaged to be married.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I croaked. ‘You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.’

  ‘Oh, I can imagine.’ Gently, he reached out and placed his hand over mine. ‘A gentle young lady such as yourself, a delicate flower, must not be mistreated. Please rest assured that when we are married, I will always purport myself with the utmost propriety.’

  ‘Wonderful. That sounds just…wonderful.’

  ‘May I ask you to accompany me out onto the terrace, Miss Linton? I would like to have a talk with you in private.’

  I was so dazed by the shock I had received, and so desperately in need of fresh air, that I let myself be led outside before I realised why exactly he probably wanted to ‘have a talk with me’.

  Oh God! No!

  The terrace doors closed behind us. They were pretty, glittering glass doors - but to me, they looked an awful lot like the gates of hell.

  ‘Miss Lillian Linton.’ Mr Fitzgerald turned to me with an earnest, adoring expression on his face. It made me feel woozy. ‘I know we have only known each other for quite a short time - ’

  ‘One day, to be exact.’

  ‘Yes. As I said, quite a short time. But…do you believe in love at first sight?’

  ‘No. Not really,’

  ‘Oh.’ He blinked. It was obvious he had been hoping for a different answer, and I had messed up his script.

  ‘Um…well, I do. And when I first saw you at your aunt’s breakfast table, you took my breath away!’

  ‘That probably was the garlic Leadfield, the butler, serves with the boiled potatoes. It can have that effect.’

  ‘No!’ The little man took a step forward, his round face glowing with adoration. ‘It was you! Your feminine grace-’

  What?

  ‘-your beauty, your kindness, your angelic aura-’

  Was this fellow on opium?

  ‘-it all convinced me instantly that there was not, that there could never be, any other woman in the world for me!’

  ‘Um…are you sure you have looked everywhere? The world is pretty big, you know.’

  ‘Yes!’ Stepping forward, he grasped my hands and, before I could wrench them from his grasp, lifted them to his lips and kissed them.

  Eww!

  He was still holding my hands in his. I tugged at them, but he didn’t get the hint.

  ‘Miss Linton! I cannot suppress my feelings any longer. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you!’

  ‘Must I really?’

  He seemed not to have heard that.

  ‘My feelings for you are hot and glowing like the sun, and yet soft and blooming like rose petals opening in summer!’

  ‘Gosh. You don’t say.’

  ‘My heart thrums at the very sound of your name! Your eyes shine like the coat of my finest thoroughbred. When you laugh, the bells of heaven sound in my ears.’

  ‘You could try earplugs.’

  I tugged at my hands again. But they seemed to be fixed to his with glue.

  ‘I love you, Miss Linton - no, I love you, Lillian! I love you passionately! And I know you love me, too!’

  ‘You do, do you?’

  Tug! Tug!

  Blast it! Did this little fellow have adhesive sweat?

  ‘Oh yes!’ Still not letting go, he sank onto his knees in front of me.

  Oh, no, no, nonononono! Not that! Please not that!

  ‘Please, Lillian, I beg of you: make me the happiest man in the world! Give me the answer I am hoping, no, I am living for. Will you marry me?’

  I tugged at my hands again - and in the effort to get them free, I might have lowered my head the tiniest little bit, tensing my neck muscles. Mr Fitzgerald chose to interpret it for the gesture commonly referred to as ‘nodding’.

  ‘That is all the answer I need! You are speechless with joy, aren’t you? So am I! Oh, Lillian my darling, come into my arms!’

  Jumping up, he dashed forward, ready to embrace me.

  And I?

  Well, what was a girl to do in a situation like that? What could I do when a man had just bared his heart to me?

  I did the only thing I could do. I stabbed him in the eye with my fan.

  ‘Ouch!’

  At least that was one item of the fan language that couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted. Instinctively, marvellously, blessedly, he let go of my hands and I jumped back with the agility of a mountain goat. And I bet no mountain goat was ever that agile
while wearing a ballgown with a huge crinoline! Whirling around, I ran down along the terrace, my only thought to get as far away from Mr Fitzgerald and his lovesick puppy-dog eyes as I possibly could.

  ‘Lillian, my love! Wait!’

  But I didn’t wait. Oh, no! I sped up. I’ve always been a pretty fast runner, if I do say so myself. I was out of the light spilling from the terrace door in a flash, and in the moonlight, I could already see my escape not far ahead: the corner of the house! Behind that, there would be gardens, with lots of bushes to hide behind, and no ball guests to throw impromptu love confessions into my face.

  Sucking in a big gulp of air for my dash to freedom, I sped up, swerved around the corner of the house - and ran smack into someone.

  A tall, very solid, very male someone.

  Staggering back, I looked up, a catalogue of expletives on my tongue - but they all died on my lips as soon as I caught sight of the man in front of me.

  ‘Well, well…good Evening, Miss.’

  I had been wrong.

  There were ball guests behind the house. At least one of them.

  Mouth agape, eyes wide open, I stared up into the regal, aquiline face of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.

  The Half Happy Couple

  ‘Miss?’ Lord Dalgliesh stepped forward, extending his hands to steady me. I felt his long, aristocratic fingers grip my shoulders. ‘Miss, are you all right?’

  How to answer that truthfully?

  Scratch that. There was no way to answer that truthfully. If I did, he’d know that I was far from all right. And he’d know it was because of him. Because I knew who and what he was.

  ‘I…I’m just a little taken aback,’ I murmured, casting my eyes down. Please don’t let him recognise me. Please! ‘I didn’t expect to literally run into somebody like that.’

  He smiled. It was a harmless smile. A friendly smile. It was a lie.

  ‘I can understand that. I am sorry to have distressed you. May I escort you somewhere?’

  ‘No, it’s all right, I’m-’

  My voice cut off when I felt his grip suddenly tighten on my arm.

  ‘Miss?’ His voice suddenly didn’t sound quite so harmless anymore. Still friendly, but not harmless at all. ‘Miss, have we met before? I could swear…’

  A barrage of images flashed through my mind in an instant.