Silence Breaking (Storm and Silence Saga Book 4)

by Robert Thier

  Damn!

  Uttering some very unladylike curses - in Portuguese, just in case someone was listening in - I started marching down the hall, followed by my new, bearded, sabre-swinging shadow. This was intolerable! I was going to make someone pay. And I knew just who had the deepest pockets around here…

  Mr Rikkard Ambrose was sitting at breakfast with his mother, sister, and a gaggle of admiring young ladies who were plying him with questions about the mine strike, ooh-ing and aaah-ing, fluttering their eyelashes and complimenting him on his bravery. Needless to say that when I stormed into the breakfast parlour, this sight didn’t exactly improve my mood.

  ‘And then, Mr Ambrose?’ Lady Caroline whispered, leaning closer in a way that displayed certain assets of hers to their best advantage. However, since the assets were neither inventory, cash nor receivables, Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn’t appear particularly interested. That mollified me somewhat - until I heard him say, ‘Well, Lady Caroline, after my secretary had let himself be knocked down, I grabbed the stupid boy and dragged him into the manager’s office. My bodyguard covered the door, while I pulled him out of danger.’

  What?

  ‘Oh, Mr Ambrose!’ sighed Lady Caroline. ‘You’re so brave.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Lady Dorothea, not to be outdone by a little competition. ‘So terribly brave!’

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Ambrose concurred succinctly, and took a succinct sip of tea.

  Excuse me? Who was it who jumped in front of whom to save him from being stoned alive?

  ‘Tell us more,’ pleaded Lady Caroline. ‘What did you do next? How did you save the day?’

  I cleared my throat.

  Everyone looked up. A broad smile spread over Lady Samantha’s face.

  ‘Ah, Miss Linton. I’m so glad you felt up to joining us. How are you this fine morning, after the exhausting journey yesterday?’

  Everyone except Mr Ambrose. His eyes didn’t move an inch. He took another sip of tea.

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ I told her, staring at him. ‘Although I sometimes feel a little bit uneasy after that terrible ordeal. For some reason, I feel watched, as if someone were following me everywhere I go.’

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Reaching out, Lady Samantha patted my hand. ‘That’s perfectly natural, after all that you’ve been through. All those brutes attacking you… If I’d had an experience like that, I’d be checking for strangers around corners, too. But it’s just an irrational feeling. In time it will fade.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked, taking a seat. A shadow fell onto my plate as Karim took up his post behind me. I heard the scrape of metal against metal as he took a tight hold of his sabre. ‘I’m so relieved to hear that.’

  ‘So it is true?’ Lady Caroline demanded. ‘You were really caught up in the strike? The miners attacked you?’

  Ladling my toast with liberal amounts of beans, I considered how best to answer that. Finally, I decided on: ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dear Lord!’ she gave a fake little gasp and fanned herself, as if the mere thought of mine workers caused acute lack of oxygen. Her eyes, however, stayed hard and sharp as shards of flint. ‘That’s dreadful! You poor thing! And to live through that at your age, when you’re hardly a woman yet, nearly a child…how horrific. I’m so sorry that you were hurt.’

  And not killed instead, her eyes completed the sentence she could not finish out loud.

  ‘So am I,’ I agreed with a smile. I’d rather it had been you.

  Then the men started in, propounding their theories about the declining morality of the lower classes and the need to take them into a firm hand to save Britain’s economy. We ladies contented ourselves with throwing poisonous looks at each other, and occasionally at each other’s breakfast, in the hope the looks would be literally effective. But just because I was silent, that didn’t mean I no longer intended to haul Mr Ambrose over the coals. Oh no. I simply waited. I bided my time. As soon as there was a lull in the conversation, I leaned forward, and with a sweet smile said, ‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

  Everyone hushed. His name alone was enough to cast silence over a table.

  Meticulously, Mr Ambrose speared a piece of bacon with his fork, deposited it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Only then did he look at me.

  ‘Yes, Miss Linton?’

  ‘I wanted to thank you for your generosity in lending your personal bodyguard to me.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed. I feel so much safer since I have a dangerous, armed man lurking in front of my bedroom door every night.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Although…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have noticed that such security measures tend to get in the way of private conversations, or privacy in general.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t concern yourself, Miss Linton. Karim is confidentiality itself.’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Oh yes. No matter what he hears, he takes me into his confidence.’

  Gripping my fork, I stabbed at a piece of scrambled egg, imagining it to be Mr Ambrose’s head. ‘That’s what I thought. Thank you again, Mr Ambrose. Words simply cannot express how grateful I am.’

  ‘And thank you from me, too, Sir.’ I glanced up to see who had spoken. It was Captain Carter. He was looking at Mr Ambrose with an earnest expression of thanks on his face, the poor deluded man. ‘It means a great deal to me to know that Miss Linton will be safe at all times. I truly appreciate what you have done.’

  Oh boy…let’s wait and see if you still feel that way after the first time you try coming within ten yards of me.

  Behind me, Karim shifted and rattled his sabre.

  *~*~**~*~*

  Oh, Lord, please let this torture end! Please give me back Mrs. Ponsemby!

  A few years ago, a distant relation had invited Gertrude, Lisbeth, Ella and me on a seaside holiday to Bath. Though ‘holiday’ had probably not been the right expression for it. Mrs Ponsemby had been our hired chaperone for the occasion - a fat old bird who was allergic to sun, sea water, music, sweets, all other kinds of fun and, to judge by the looks she gave us, adolescent girls as well. She could read children’s minds and blister a conscience at fifty paces. The most treasured memory I had of Mrs Ponsemby was the scream she uttered when she found the frog I had put into her shoe. Under normal circumstances, it would have taken huge bribes or horrifying torture to even make me think of Mrs Ponsemby. But now…

  Now I wished her back with all my heart.

  If only I had her back.

  If only I had her back.

  If only I had her, instead of-

  ‘Ow!’ Whirling, I grabbed the spot on my delicate derriere that had just been poked by a sabre sheath. ‘Will you watch where you stick that thing? Don’t walk so closely behind me!’

  ‘The Sahib instructed me to remain close to you at all times.’

  ‘Then put that bloody pigsticker away!’

  ‘I cannot discard my weapons. The Sahib instructed me that your safety is of the utmost-’

  ‘Oh, stop gabbling gobbledygook, you big, bearded block of basalt! You know as well as I do this has nothing to do with my safety.’

  ‘The Sahib assigned me to protect you. The Sahib instructed me that your safety is of the utmost importance. I shall protect you with my life.’

  Just then, a voice called out from behind us. ‘Miss Linton? Miss Linton, wait.’

  I turned to see who it was. Then, seeing only massive amounts of beard, I stepped to the side and peeked around a big shoulder to see who it was.

  Captain James Carter was hurrying down the corridor. He mustn’t have had much more appetite than I if he had ended his breakfast this early.

  ‘Oh, hello Captain,’ I began. ‘I was just-’

  That was about as far as I got before Karim kicked open a door right beside us, shoved me into the room, stepped in behind me, slammed shut the door and jammed it with a chair. All this happened so fas
t I didn’t even have time to blink. When I finally did have time again, I was already three rooms farther away, being pulled along without a hope of resistance by the mountainous bodyguard.

  Bodyguard?

  Ha! Walking chastity belt, more like!

  ‘So,’ I enquired sweetly. ‘You are here to protect me from danger?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what kind of danger did Captain Carter present just now? Pray tell, I’m dying to hear.’

  ‘The dangerous kind.’

  ‘Of course. Why did I even ask? It’s so obvious.’

  We didn’t stop until we reached the winter garden. The sun sparkled on the frosted windows, and the plants glinted with morning dew. Throwing a very deliberate look around the empty green space, I turned to raise an eyebrow at Karim.

  ‘What exactly am I supposed to do here?’

  ‘I do not know.’ He waved an imperious paw. ‘Do what women do in gardens.’

  ‘Tend roses?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Play croquet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go on romantic walks with lovers?’

  ‘Ye- no! No, not that!’

  ‘I could think of someone who would be only too happy to go on walks with me, if-’

  Faster than I would have believed it possible, Karim moved and positioned himself in front of the only exit.

  ‘Roses!’ he commanded, with a scowl that was probably supposed to look fierce. ‘Croquet!’

  I gave him another sweet smile. ‘I don’t have a croquet mallet. I suppose you wouldn’t be so kind as to lend me your sabre as a replacement?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought not. A pity. I could think of a very good use for it, right now.’

  That’s how it went on, and on, and on. During the next few days, every time a male dared to step too close to me, Karim was there, placing himself between the ‘danger’ and sweet little unprotected me, or simply growling at the newcomer. That sent most scurrying off in the opposite direction. And whenever we met a certain red-coated captain on whom a growl wasn’t likely to have the same effect…well, let’s just say his tactics got a little bit more inventive.

  ‘Thff fff rdffffcfff!’

  No answer.

  ‘Lttt mmm ggg!’

  No answer. Over Karim’s shoulder, I could just see the puzzled face of Captain Carter. His thoughts were as clear as if they had been painted on his forehead: I thought I saw her here just a moment ago. Where could she be?

  Then he shrugged, and marched away down the corridor.

  Removing his paw from my mouth - not without wincing at the bite marks I had left, I noted to my satisfaction - Karim let go of me. I strode out from behind the potted plant where he had dragged me.

  ‘This,’ I told him, taking deep calming breaths, ‘is getting ridiculous.’

  He did his best to keep his face serene and dutiful. ‘My orders from the Sahib are to keep you safe. Your safety is of paramount-’

  ‘Oh, put a sock in it! Enough is enough!’

  I was pissed off. Really pissed off. And do you know why? Officially, of course, I was pissed off because Mr Ambrose, that chauvinistic son of a bachelor, was trying to control who I could and could not speak to. That was outrageous! Unspeakable! As a strong, independent woman, I simply could not allow it.

  But really, deep down inside, I was pissed off because I could have used a suitor-deflecting shield like Karim years ago. He would have come in so damn handy during my adolescent years, when my dear aunt’s goal in life was to marry me off before I was sixteen. But had he shown up then? Oh no, he and his megalomaniac master had to wait till I was grown up and able to fend for myself before they appeared in my life. Thanks, but no thanks!

  Finally, the exhausting day drifted to a close. With a sigh, I slammed the door of my room behind me and leaned against it. At least here I was safe from persecution. At least here I would be blessedly, blissfully alone.

  ‘Well?’ came a cool voice from right beside me, nearly making me jump out of my skin. ‘Ready to hold up your end of our deal?’

  I whirled.

  It was dark inside the room. Too dark to see, really. But even if I hadn’t recognised the tall, dark, figure in the shadows in an instant, that cool voice would have removed any doubts about its identity.

  ‘You!’ Breathing heavily, I stabbed an accusing look at the dark silhouette. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Collecting my dividends,’ Mr Rikkard Ambrose said in a voice that betrayed not a hint of remorse.

  ‘You dare show your face here after what your goon has put me through today?’

  He took a step forward. ‘I gather you are referring to Karim?’

  ‘You bet I’m referring to Karim! I didn’t ask for you to set him on my tracks like some overeager guard-dog! I didn’t-’

  In that moment, my voice cut off.

  Why?

  Because Mr Rikkard Ambrose had taken a step forward, gripped my face in both hands and claimed my mouth with a kiss. It was a long kiss. A hard kiss. A kiss he worked for all it was worth, until he’d tripled every single penny of his investment, and made me melt into the bargain. When he finally released me, my breath was gone and my brain was on holiday.

  ‘Karim stays,’ he told me, his voice as hard and cold as a frost giant’s sword. ‘Your safety comes first.’

  Gathering what tattered remnants of sanity I could recover, I glared up at him. It wasn’t easy, after such a kiss. ‘My safety? Bollocks! This isn’t about my safety.’

  ‘It is.’ His eyes bored into me, deep, dark, sea-coloured pools of danger. ‘Because if I catch that army captain anywhere near you, Mr Linton, you won’t be safe. And neither will he.’

  And with that, he tore open the door and marched out of my room.

  Well, well…

  Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s version of a gentle good-night kiss, threats and tyranny inclusive. Wasn’t I a lucky girl?

  As I touched two fingers to my throbbing lips, I had to fight hard against a persistent little voice in the back of my head that told me, over and over again, that yes, indeed, I was.

  I wouldn’t listen! I wouldn’t lie down and let him trample all over me! Safety? Protection? Ha! He could take his protection and stuff it where the sun didn’t shine!

  Later that night, as I lay in bed, slowly drifting to sleep, I determined that there was no way around it. I had to assert my independence. And there was only one way to do that, only one way to show Mr Rikkard Ambrose once and for all that he couldn’t order me around as he pleased: I had to go on a rendezvous with Captain James Carter.

  Princified

  I woke up next morning with a plan formed ready in my mind. And, oh, what a beautifully diabolical plan it was. Lying in my warm bed, gazing up at the portraits of fat little cherubs on the ceiling, I smiled. Poor Karim… He had no idea what I had in store for him.

  Rising, I slipped into my female guise and, whistling merrily, stepped out of the room. Karim was already awaiting me and followed on my heels as I made my way down to breakfast. And when I say ‘on my heels’, that was less of a metaphor than I would have liked it to be. More than once I had to suppress a yelp of pain as the tips of his shoes stabbed into my ankles.

  Patience, Lilly. Patience. Vengeance shall be thine.

  When I entered the breakfast parlour still whistling and smiling, Mr Ambrose threw me a suspicious glance. But what could he say? You look suspiciously happy this morning. What are you up to?

  Not the kind of thing you ask a lady in front of your mother and two dozen guests.

  ‘You look suspiciously happy this morning. What are you up to?’

  Unless your name is Rikkard Ambrose, of course.

  ‘Rick!’ From across the table Lady Samantha sent her son a reproachful look, which he completely ignored. I gave him a friendly smile.

  ‘Oh, nothing. I guess I’m just in a good mood this fine morning. Good as in “positive” or “buoyant”. In case you’d
like to find out the meaning of those words, you’ll find them under p and b in the dictionary.’

  Several of the gentlemen at the table chuckled. The ladies didn’t, but then again, you can’t really expect hyenas to laugh at an antelope’s joke. Unless maybe it starts with ‘A lame antelope came into a bar full of hyenas waiting for their dinner, and…’

  Breakfast passed without any major events. Now and then, Mr Rikkard Ambrose threw me a suspicious look or two, but since he did the same with the lady next to him, who was trying to get his attention through giggling and eyelash-batting, I wasn’t particularly worried he was suspecting something. Oh no, he felt secure in the knowledge that his big, bearded bulldog would follow me wherever I went.

  Big mistake.

  After breakfast, the gentlemen departed. Most to go shooting or riding, a few, like Mr Ambrose, to burrow into their happy world of paperwork and business correspondence, from which this inconvenient Christmas invitation had so cruelly torn them. Only we ladies remained behind. Soon, most were engaged in activities traditionally associated with the fair sex - needlework, mindless little musicales, and general undermining of the feminist cause. Only one little detail didn’t quite fit into the homely idyll…

  ‘Um…what is he doing here?’ Adaira whispered, leaning over to me and, as inconspicuously as possible, pointing at Karim. The giant Mohammedan was standing in one corner of the room, arms crossed, spearing a young lady doing her needlework with a glare so fierce, you’d think he suspected her of planning an assassination by needle-stabbing, or maybe yarn-garrotting.

  I pulled a face. ‘Haven’t you heard? Since my little adventure in Newcastle, I have my own personal bodyguard. He follows me everywhere.’

  ‘Everywhere? Even to the-’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Inside?’

  ‘If he tries that, I’ll stab him with my parasol.’

  ‘Good for you!’

  I sighed. ‘But it’s bad enough as it is. I stumble over him everywhere I go. I hardly have a moment’s peace anymore. And it’s all so unreasonable! I’m perfectly safe here. I don’t know why he insists on it! Your brother-’

  The two little magic words worked like a charm.

  Your brother.

  Slumping back in her armchair, Adaira covered her face with a pillow. ‘Don’t get me started on him! He’s the most stubborn-’