Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence Book 5)

by Robert Thier

  ‘True.’ Edmund’s expression brightened. ‘So…do you have a plan to help us?’

  They both looked at me like starving bunnies at a gardener specializing in lettuce.

  ‘Yes, I have. Listen closely.’

  And I proceeded to explain to them what I had in mind. When I was finished, they gazed at me with eyes widened by admiration. I’m not ashamed to say I preened a little. It wasn’t often I got to bask in unbridled admiration of my genius.

  ‘Can it really be that simple?’ Edmund whispered.

  ‘It can be, and it is.’

  They glanced at each other. Without a word, they reached to take each other’s hands, and squeezed in silent agreement. The sight sent an unexpected shard of pain through me, as I remembered a hand that had once held mine like that. A hand that was now far, far away.

  Soon, I told myself. You’ll just have to wrap up this little matter, and then….

  ‘All right,’ my thoughts were interrupted by Edmund, who, for once, sounded uncharacteristically determined. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Very well.’ Rising, I nodded. ‘Just remember to be at my uncle’s house tomorrow afternoon at two. Oh, and also remember, if you break her heart—’

  ‘…you shall remove, um…certain extremities. I remember.’

  ‘Good.’ I beamed. ‘I might learn to like you after all. Now, let’s go, Ella, shall we? I’ve got some preparations to make.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  The next day, my aunt went insane. Well, she was pretty crazy most of the time, but that morning, she went completely off the rocker, down the stairs and into the metaphorical coal cellar to paint pink guinea pigs on the wall, so to speak.

  What, you may ask, had her in such a spin?

  You’ve got three guesses. But you’ll probably only need one.

  ‘Hurry, girls, hurry! If you tarry like this, you’ll never be ready in time for the duchess’s ball! Get moving, get moving!’

  The duchess’s ball was all she could talk about. She was racing through the house like a rabid vulture, bonnets and trinkets and ribbons in hand. I hadn’t seen so many pretty non-essentials in this house since a package meant for a seamstress three houses down had accidentally been delivered to our house. Aunt had even, bless her stingy, social-climbing little soul, ordered a dressmaker to come to the house to create a special ball gown for Ella, thus bringing the entire number of dresses owned by her to a staggering total of three. Apparently, my dear aunt had high hopes that her niece’s stunning beauty would attract a great catch.

  Did I mention I didn’t get a dress? Surprise, surprise.

  ‘Would the pink ribbons be better, or the blue?’ Aunt Brank demanded, buzzing around Ella with arms full of accessories.

  ‘Why not the grey?’ Maria suggested sweetly. ‘They match her personality.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ I said. ‘Then you can take the green, Maria. They’ll match your envy.’

  Maria sent me a death-glare across the room, which I shrugged off without blinking. When you‘ve been glared at by Mr Rikkard Ambrose, an evil twin sister is easy to deal with.

  ‘Take this one,’ I whispered, pressing another, brand-new blue ribbon into Ella’s hand. ‘It’ll match your eyes.’

  ‘Lill! You shouldn’t have!’

  ‘I know. But I like doing stuff I shouldn’t do. It’s so much fun.’ Before she could protest any more, I tied the ribbon into Ella’s hair. Aunt Brank elbowed me out of the way, grabbed the ribbon and shifted it approximately a quarter of an inch to the left.

  ‘There! Now you look just perfect!’ She beamed. Not the way a lamp does, but involving an actual, honest-to-God smile. Wonders never cease. ‘Looking like that, you’ll be able to catch yourself a baronet, or maybe even a duke!’

  Just then, the clock in the corner struck two pm. A moment later, the doorbell rang downstairs. Aunt Brank frowned. ‘Who could that be? It’s not yet time for the dressmaker to arrive, is it?’

  ‘I’ll go and see,’ I volunteered with an innocent smile.

  Poor Aunt Brank. She was so swept up by her dreams that she didn’t even notice the abnormality of me volunteering to do something to help her. She just waved her hand.

  ‘Yes, yes, do. Ella and I have more important things to take care of.’

  I doubt that. Now then…Let’s have some fun.

  Turning to go, I winked at Ella. She nearly toppled off the stool she was standing on for her dress fitting. Her face was alternately flushing and draining of colour.

  ‘Hold still, girl! What is the matter with you?’

  ‘N-nothing, Aunt. Absolutely nothing.’

  Grinning, I sauntered down the stairs. This was going to be interesting.

  Downstairs, I opened the door to find a sweating piano-tuner’s son on the doorstep.

  ‘You look a little flushed,’ I commented. ‘Have you changed your profession to plumber?’

  He eyed me dubiously. ‘It just occurred to me…if I marry Ella, I’m going to have you as sister-in-law, aren’t I?’

  I gave him my most magnificent smile. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And there’s no way around it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. Mhm. Well…’ He swallowed, hesitated—and nodded. ‘Well, lead on. Where are they?’

  ‘Upstairs. Follow me.’

  He did. At a safe distance.

  When we entered the room upstairs, nobody glanced our way at first. But then Lisbeth turned to reach for another ribbon and caught sight of Edmund. Her eyes widening, she tugged at Anne’s sleeve. Anne turned, an annoyed expression on her face, which melted into curiosity when she caught sight of the newcomer, and instantly switched to malignant delight when she saw his gaze fastened on Ella. Quickly, she tugged Maria’s sleeve, and soon, the whole room was staring at us – except for Aunt Brank. She was far too deeply lost in dreams of social aspirations.

  ‘Oh yes, Ella, my dear! With this dress you’ll catch yourself a really remarkable man! Only, make sure not to focus too much on wealth, and more on position. Money is there one day and gone the next, but a seat in the House of Lords is forever! You can’t go wrong with…What’s the matter, girl? Why aren’t you listening? What are you staring at like th—?’

  Finally, she saw him. Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Who are you?’

  You had to admire her for achieving such a level of callous carelessness. We’d had the same neighbours for the last ten years, and she still didn’t know their names.

  Edmund cleared his throat. ‘My name is Edmund, Ma’am. Edmund Conway. I live next door.’

  ‘Then what are you doing here?’

  If she’d hoped to get rid of him by being rude, she was about to be disappointed. Stiffening his spine, Edmund met her gaze head-on.

  ‘I’ve come to ask for your niece’s hand in marriage.’

  Aunt Brank blinked. Then her eyes went back and forth between Edmund and me—and a smile spread across her face. Twice in one day? I had to remember to mark today red in the calendar.

  ‘By all means, take her hand, and the rest of her. When will she be out of the house?’

  Edmund’s eyes widened, and his head snapped around to stare at me. I might have been a bit offended by the undisguised horror in his expression if I wasn’t close to bursting out laughing.

  ‘Um…I’m afraid you misunderstand me, Mrs Brank.’

  ‘Don’t tell me that you’re planning on a long engagement. If Lillian’s going to marry, I’m going to rent her room out, and I need it quickly.’

  ‘Err, no, Ma’am. That’s not what I was referring to. I meant that it’s not Miss Lillian I wish to marry.’

  The smile vanished from Aunt Brank’s face. ‘Oh. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’

  ‘No, Ma’am. I wish to marry Miss Ella.’

  In an instant, my aunt’s demeanour shifted. Where, a moment before, she had been glowing with anticipation, she
now switched from -cipation to -pathy.

  ‘Are you a duke?’

  Edmund’s honest eyebrows shot up. ‘A duke? No.’

  ‘A marquess? Earl?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Viscount? Baron? Some other kind of lord?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Then what are you?’

  ‘I, um, am training to become a piano tuner.’

  ‘A piano…out!’

  ‘Pardon, Ma’am?’

  Raising her hand, she pointed a trembling finger at the door. ‘Out! Out of this house, now! You’ll marry Ella over my dead body!’

  ‘How kind of you,’ I took the opportunity to cut in. ‘Over there is a nice, open window. It should be quite high enough to bash your head in.’

  My aunt gave me a dour look.

  ‘This is your doing, isn’t it.’

  I tried to look innocent. Unfortunately, it was an art I had never completely mastered.

  ‘Well, whatever you’re up to, missy, it stops here! It’s not you who has the power to decide Ella’s future. It’s me! And I’m saying no.’

  Edmund’s face paled. But before he could lose what remained of his courage, I gave my aunt a smile and fired back.

  ‘Actually, that’s not entirely true, is it? If there is someone who could decide, it is Uncle Bufford. After all,’ I said and internally begged forgiveness from all the feminists who had gone before me, ‘he is the man of the house, isn’t he?’

  Gertrude nodded. Lisbeth nodded. Quickly, Ella inclined her head. Even Anne and Maria managed a grudging nod.

  My aunt opened her mouth—then closed it again. Her eyes flashed with venom. Ha! I had hoisted her on her own petard. Opening the door, I performed a bow.

  ‘Gentlemen first.’

  A slightly dazed Edmund walked through, followed by a fuming aunt, a pale Ella, and a gaggle of curious sisters. We marched down the corridor, coming to a halt in front of Uncle Bufford’s room. Raising my hand, I knocked.

  The Price of Love

  ‘Go away!’ came his jovial greeting from inside.

  ‘But Uncle,’ Ella dared to protest. ‘We need to speak with you.’

  ‘Then especially go away. I don’t have the time to bother with women’s problems.’

  ‘There, you see?’ Aunt Brank raised her chin triumphantly. ‘He doesn’t want to be bothered. It seems I shall have to be the one to decide the matter after all.’

  ‘Let me try,’ I suggested with a brilliant smile. Stepping forward, I knocked against the door. ‘Uncle? It’s about money.’

  There was a momentary pause from within, then…

  ‘Come in.’

  Sometimes, I truly loved my uncle.

  We stepped inside. The room was as dingy as I remembered. Although it was a bright spring day outside, only slim slivers of light fell into Uncle Bufford’s study, due to the heavy curtains that covered most of the windows. Coins, receipts and bank notes in bundles still covered every available surface. The piles seemed to have grown about two inches since my last visit. Uncle Bufford sat, as he always did, behind his massive wooden desk, most of his face, apart from his sharp little eyes, concealed behind a ginormous beard. The instant we entered, those eyes focused with unerring speed on Edmund.

  ‘You. I know you. You’re the Conways’ boy.’

  Edmund swallowed. ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Are you the one who wants money from me?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’

  ‘Um, well…’

  ‘What are you waiting for? Speak up, young man!’

  ‘I, um, came to ask for your niece’s hand.’

  ‘Which one? There are so many running around here I can hardly keep track.’

  ‘Ella, Sir.’

  ‘Ella? Hm, hm. Ella.’

  ‘And I, of course, said no!’ Aunt Brank cut in. ‘Ella is a charming young girl, who, with a bit of luck, could marry into any of the highest families of the land! To give her to a half-baked, piano playing nobody—’

  ‘Tuning,’ Edmund corrected.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tuning, Ma’am. I tune pianos, I do not play them.’

  My aunt gave him a look that suggested where he could stick his well-tuned pianos. ‘As I was saying, to give her to this nobody of a nincompoop would be beyond ridiculous. It would be the height of folly!’

  ‘B-but Aunt!’ Ella stepped forward, wet her lips and, with a blush taken straight out of a gothic romance, whispered, ‘I love him.’

  My aunt stared at her. My uncle stared at her. I stared at her. For Ella, this was rebellion. For Ella, this was dancing naked on the rooftop while the house burned down. She had actually voiced her own opinion—and not while hiding in a broom closet. Just goes to show: wonders never cease.

  Uncle Bufford sent me a grumpy glare. I knew what that glare meant.

  You’ve lured me into this under false pretences, young lady! You said we would be talking about money. And now I have to deal with marriage, and love, and other kinds of mushy female matters that make me want to hurl. Just you wait. This will have consequences.

  I gave him a bright smile.

  Oh yes, it will. Just you wait, you old buzzard.

  ‘Well?’ Aunt Brank demanded. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

  ‘Why would I?’ her loving husband replied. ‘You talk enough for both of us.’

  But he turned once more towards Edmund and scrutinised him from under his bushy eyebrows. The young Romeo paled under the old man’s scrutiny, but didn’t back down.

  ‘So, you want to marry my niece Ella, young man?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘How long have you known her?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Aunt Brank cut in. ‘He’s obviously unsuitable—’

  Uncle Bufford raised a finger—and Aunt Brank shut up. I blinked at my uncle, flabbergasted. How had he been able to keep this secret from me all the while? My uncle had superhuman powers in his index finger!

  Uncle Bufford returned his attention to Edmund. ‘Well? How long?’

  ‘I’ve known her casually ever since we moved in. But we’ve…grown closer over the last three years, Sir.’

  Turning to Ella, Uncle Bufford lifted an eyebrow. She nodded, quickly.

  ‘It’s true, Sir. We’ve had an attachment for quite some time.’

  ‘I see.’ Leaning forward, my uncle focused on Edmund again, and his face grew serious. ‘Are you serious in your wish to marry my niece, young man? Have you thought about what it would mean? Can you support her?’

  ‘Support her? I, well…um…’

  There was a moment of silence. Then…

  ‘I don’t know, Sir.’

  ‘Let me put it this way, young man—do you have an income of your own?’

  ‘Not yet, but—’

  ‘Do you have steady work? Some occupation that could support my niece? Or, if it comes to that, a family?’

  Edmund opened his mouth—then hung his head. ‘No.’

  Uncle Bufford closed his eyes for a moment, and nodded. ‘Then there’s your answer.’

  Edmund opened his mouth again, wanting to protest, but then he looked into Bufford’s eyes and saw implacable resolve there. Ella rushed to him, and together they hurried outside. The door slammed, and I could hear my little sister sobbing from behind the thin wood.

  Aunt Brank looked as if she’d just been elevated to Duchess of Somerset. It seemed like the matter was closed. Once it was made up, no one could change Uncle Bufford’s mind.

  Well, you’ve always loved trying the impossible, haven’t you, Lilly?

  Clearing my throat, I stepped forward. ‘I wonder whether I might have a word with you, Uncle?’

  Instantly, all heads in the room turned to me. Aunt Brank narrowed her eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘Excuse me, Aunt, but it’s not you I was talking to.’ I looked straight at my uncle, praying I wasn’t wrong about him. ‘Uncle? Alone, please?’

>   He hesitated for a moment—then nodded.

  ‘Bufford!’ Aunt Brank protested. ‘You can’t—´’

  He flicked his finger again, and her mouth snapped shut. I really had to get him to teach me how to do that. With a last venomous look from my aunt, and not-too-friendly ones from the twins, everyone filed out of the room. Only Uncle Bufford and I remained.

  ‘Well, girl? What do you want?’ Steepling his fingers, he regarded me from under his bushy eyebrows. ‘I hope you’re not going to plead or cry or some silly female nonsense like that.’

  ‘Please don’t insult my intelligence,’ I told him. ‘You’d be about as likely to be moved by tears as a mountain by an ant fart.’

  He nodded approvingly. ‘True.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to cry or plead. I simply want to point out some arguments in favour of Edmund you might not have thought of before.’

  ‘You mean there are actually arguments in favour of him?’

  ‘Surprising, I know. But yes, there are.’

  ‘Pray tell.’

  ‘Well, to start with, Edmund’s father is quite old. Soon he’ll be too old to work. Young Edmund might not have an income now, but he’s good at what he does. The moment his father retires, he’ll inherit a profitable business that would be more than sufficient to support a family.’

  One bushy eyebrow rose, decorating the upper half of Uncle Bufford’s head with a little bit of hair for the first time in decades.

  ‘Which isn’t much good to him now, is it?’

  ‘True. But who says Ella needs to marry him right away? She’s young. Besides, many couples choose an extended courtship or a long engagement. A tacit agreement could be formed, without any public announcements, and when Edmund takes over from his father, we could make things official.’

  ‘True, that would work, girl. But he’d still only be a piano tuner. Ella could do much better.’

  ‘Ah yes, all those barons and marquesses…’ I smiled. ‘You’ve never married off a female relative, dear Uncle, so you might not be aware of this, but there’s a custom in our fine country called a ‘dowry’. It’s a substantial sum of money paid by the father—or guardian—of the bride to the prospective husband.’

  Uncle Bufford’s face turned to stone. His hands clamped around the armrests of his chair.