Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence Book 5)

by Robert Thier

  ‘If Ella marries some baron or marquess, or, God forbid, a Duke, he is going to expect a dowry. It could be, oh, I don’t know…’ I let the sentence trail off, suggestively looking around the room at all the heaps of coins and banknotes in view. Uncle Bufford couldn’t suppress a shudder of horror. Inwardly, I smirked. Time for the last strike.

  ‘Plus, there will be a big wedding—which someone will have to pay for.’

  My uncle’s beard twitched. ‘You don’t think that…’

  ‘Oh yes. I do.’

  ‘Hrumph.’

  ‘On the other hand, if Ella were to marry Edmund,’ I continued quickly, ‘I’m sure they’d want a humble, private ceremony. And if there were problems with money, I could help out.’

  That caused another eyebrow-elevation.

  ‘Help? How?’

  ‘With money. I have…some funds of my own.’

  ‘Do you, now?’ He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to penetrate my secrets. Finally, he asked, ‘Is that all?’

  I thought hard for a moment. Wasn’t that enough? I had done my very best. What else could I do? What on earth could convince him that this was the best, the only choice for Ella?

  Finally, inspiration hit.

  ‘I also,’ I added, with a big smile, ‘would like to make you a small present of, um…ten shillings to thank you for being such a kind, considerate uncle who always thinks of his nieces before himself.’

  He cocked his head. ‘Ten?’

  ‘Err…fifteen?’

  ‘Thirty.’

  ‘Twenty-five. My last offer.’

  ‘Done.’ Uncle Bufford nodded. ‘I do love being a kind, considerate uncle.’

  Not betraying a hint of how my heart was hammering in my chest, I stepped toward the door with a little curtsey. Done. I had done it! I had saved my little sister. And for half as much as I’d expected to pay. Mr Ambrose would be proud.

  ‘A pleasure doing business with you, Uncle.’

  Turning, I slipped outside, closed the door behind me and walked until I was out of hearing distance—then I leapt up and punched the air. ‘Yay! I did it! I did it!’

  Leaning against the corridor a bit farther down, I noticed a picture of misery that was quite a convincing portrait of my little sister.

  ‘Cheer up!’ I told her, thumping her on the back.

  ‘Lill!’ She sent me an accusing gaze. ‘How can you smile at a time like this?’

  ‘The question is, how can you not?’ My grin broadened. ‘Or don’t you want to marry your piano-tuner anymore?’

  Ella blinked. ‘Marry? Marry Edmund? But Uncle Bufford said….’

  ‘He changed his mind.’

  ‘But how…?’

  ‘I appealed to his generous nature.’

  It told you a lot about my little sister, practically everything you needed to know, that she swallowed this lie hook, line and sinker. A beatific smile spread across her face, and the tears on her face sparkled like diamonds, making her only look more beautiful than ever.

  ‘His generous nature? Oh, that dear, dear old man. I’ve got to thank him! I could weep at his feet in gratitude all day!’

  ‘Don’t,’ I advised. ‘We don’t want him to change his mind again.’

  ‘But Lill—’

  ‘Besides,’ I added, ‘shouldn’t you go tell Edmund? He’s probably languishing in horrible heartache or something silly like that right now.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, you’re right!’ Clapping her hand over her mouth, Ella whirled and rushed towards the stairs. ‘I must go to him at once! Oh, poor, poor Edmund!’

  I had a feeling poor, poor Edmund wasn’t going to feel so poor anymore in a few minutes. Smiling, I gazed after Ella as she rushed off to meet her future. Now it was time for me to go find mine.

  *~*~**~*~*

  When Aunt Brank heard that Uncle Bufford had changed his mind about Ella’s marriage, she immediately got it into her head that it was my fault. I thought this quite unfair. Of course it was my fault, totally and completely, but she couldn’t know that, could she? Where would we be if a suspected criminal could be thrown in jail even if his crime wasn’t proven, just because he happened to be guilty?

  ‘Just you wait!’ she hissed when she settled herself down next to me at dinner that evening. ‘I’m going to get you for this. You’re going to rue the day you were born.’

  I didn’t dignify that with a response, but I decided I would have to look up what ‘rue’ means in a dictionary. I wasn’t really worried. I mean, what could she try to do to me that she hadn’t done before?

  The next evening, I got my answer. We were preparing for the Duchess of Bedford’s ball. Edmund had arrived to escort a beaming Ella, and I was just about to go upstairs and fetch my one and only ball gown, when my aunt appeared behind me like the spectre of doom and held something out towards me.

  ‘Oh no, my dear,’ she simpered. ‘We wouldn’t want you to wear that ugly old thing now, would we? Take this.’

  ‘But that’s—’

  ‘Ella’s new gown, yes. I thought the matter over and came to the conclusion she won’t really need it anymore, now, will she?’ Her eyes flashed with venom. ‘After all, she’s soon to be engaged. So I had it altered to fit you. I’m sure with such a beautiful dress, you’ll attract plenty of attention from gentlemen looking for a bride.’

  You had to give it to her—she was a master at being nasty. Genghis Khan couldn’t hold a candle to her. I put on the dress, and it fit me disturbingly well.

  ‘At this ball,’ she whispered to me when I left my room, dressed and prepared, ‘we are going to find a husband for you. I don’t care if it’s the bastard brat of the Duchess’s second gardener. In fact, that would be just what you deserve. I’m going to make sure you get what’s coming to you.’

  It was very, very hard not to smile. Poor Aunt. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that all her malevolent schemes would be futile in the end. The time when I feared her was long past. And besides—in this case, I didn’t even have a reason to. I wouldn’t be around to be caught in her trap.

  That evening, we all got in the coach that had been rented for the occasion and drove off towards the duchess’s town house. Nobody noticed that I had my largest purse with me, which appeared rather fuller than usual. They were all too busy staring at Ella and Edmund, who sat in a corner, gazing into each other’s eyes as if they could read a riveting novel there. Gertrude and Lisbeth seemed happy for them. Anne and Maria looked torn between derision (because Ella was going to marry a man without money or a title) and envy (because in spite of her misfortune, she had the audacity to be happy). And Aunt Brank…well, she looked like Aunt Brank, which was bad enough in itself.

  We arrived at the ball just as a big, fancy coach deposited several gentlemen and drove away to find a parking spot. The sight seemed to fan the flames of my aunt’s rage. Gentlemen. Probably wealthy and respected gentlemen, whom Ella now would never get to marry. She threw me another look promising vengeance, and I returned a smile. She had no idea what was coming.

  At the door, we were greeted by a swarm of scurrying servants who escorted us inside. There, at the door of the ballroom, the duchess awaited us, greeted us as if we were old friends, and very elegantly glossed over the fact that she didn’t know our names. I didn’t take it personally. To judge by the droves of people already milling around the ballroom, half of London had been invited.

  ‘Well, well…’ My aunt gave me a smile that, a year or two ago, would have sent a shiver of fear down my back. ‘Looks like there are plenty of eligible bachelors here, my dear Lillian. Why don’t you go and mingle? We would hate for you to miss this opportunity, now, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, quite so,’ I agreed merrily. ‘I’ll just go powder my nose before I venture into the thick of things, all right? I wish to look my best for the gentlemen. After all, I might find my man tonight.’

  ‘Do that, dear.’ Her eyes sparkled with suspicion. ‘I’ll wait here in front
of the door, so you don’t accidentally lose your way and leave. That would be too bad.’

  Like an army sergeant, she took up her post in front of the door as I slipped inside. I had expected no less. No matter. Quickly, I walked past the room intended for gentlemen, farther down the corridor, and entered the powder room reserved for ladies.

  There was only one other lady inside, and she seemed eager to get back to the dance floor. She didn’t seem to notice I took rather longer to powder my nose than usual and rushed out with pink cheeks and an excited shine in her eyes.

  The instant she had left, I opened my purse and pulled out a nice, big, floppy hat. It was the work of a moment to slip out of my dress and reveal the tailcoat and trousers I wore underneath. Quickly, I put on the hat and pulled it as deep into my face as it would go. Stepping out of the powder room, I strode down the corridor.

  For one moment, I hesitated in front of the gents’ room. Hm…in all my time as Mr Victor Linton, I had never set foot in one of these. Should I? It would make a nice story to share with Amy. And with Ella, if I ever wanted to make her faint on the spot.

  Shaking my head, I strode on. Maybe another time. Tonight, I had more important things to do.

  Pushing open the door, I stepped out into the ballroom and tipped my hat to Mrs Hester Mahulda Brank. She didn’t even glance at the stranger with the floppy hat. Trying my best not to burst out laughing, I marched past several ladies, taking care to bow politely every time. I was a gentleman, after all. And I was quite a success with the ladies. Several of them smiled at me and waved their fans.

  Outside, no coaches were standing around at the moment. What was standing around, however, was a big, bearded mountain of a bodyguard with a turban on his head. Good God! Had he followed me all the way here on foot?

  Of course he had. Ambrose Sahib had commanded it, after all.

  Thanking my lucky stars that I’d been clever enough to buy a new tailcoat and hat for this little subterfuge, I headed towards Karim. Why oh why did he have to be just there, in my way? I couldn’t get down the street without going past him.

  Please don’t let him recognise me! Please don’t let him recognise me! Please!

  If Karim noticed it was me, the game would be up. He would never allow me to go against the order of our dear employer. For some reason, he laboured under the strange delusion that orders from employers had to be obeyed.

  I was approaching the corner. Soon. Soon, I would be out of sight and out of danger. Only ten steps.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two

  O—

  ‘Lilliiaaaan!’

  Crap!

  The harpy’s screech from inside the duchess’s residence froze my bone marrow—but, thank the Lord, not my feet!

  ‘Hey, you there!’ I heard Karim’s growl behind me. ‘You there with the ridiculous hat! Stop!’

  I broke into a run.

  My First Time

  ‘Pfft…! Pffft…!’

  Panting like an asthmatic steam engine, I leant against the brick wall of the house behind me and peered around the corner. No Karim. No aunt. Yay! I had managed to outrun them. If I was especially lucky, they had run into each other, and Aunt Brank would by now be busy trying to marry Karim off to Anne or Maria.

  Indulging for a few moments in that sweet fantasy, I gave myself a bit of time to rest. Then I set out towards the Charing Cross Coaching Inn. I suppose I could have embarked towards France straight from the London docks, but that was what Karim would be expecting. Besides, there would be very few passenger ships departing to France at this hour of the night, if any. Yet there would be no shortage of coaches travelling down towards the coast, heading for Dover. Dover was the big port for channel crossings. If I wanted a fast way to get to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, it would be from there.

  Halfway to the inn, I stopped at a bank that offered storage, not just in safe deposit boxes, but bigger lockers as well. I had stored a getaway suitcase there a while ago, in case I would ever need to run from my aunt’s marriage schemes. Now it would serve a different purpose.

  Plus one case and minus one floppy hat (the bloody thing had been a bit too cumbersome), I approached the coaching inn, my heart pounding. For a moment I didn’t know why. Why would there be beads of sweat on my forehead?

  Then I realised—this was the first time. The first time I had ever been completely on my own. I had been to Brazil and Argentina, to Egypt and the North of England (which is a lot more foreign, than Egypt, trust me). But never once in my life had I been completely on my own. Mr Ambrose had always been with me, and if he hadn’t been, Karim had. God! Could it be that I was actually missing that big, bearded mountain?

  Get a grip, Lilly! You’ve only just managed to escape his clutches. Now isn’t the time to get soft.

  Still—being alone was a scary thought. I didn’t even have Ambrose the camel for moral support and face-spitting.

  You’re a strong woman, Lilly! You can find your way without a camel to spit in your face!

  Raising my chin, I marched down the street and knocked on the inn’s door. A moment later, it was opened by a portly man with an apron around what had once been a waist, but now was more of a barrel. He smiled down at me from an impressive height.

  ‘Good evening, Guv, good evening! What can I do for ye?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Good evening to you, too, Sir. I was wondering whether there’s a coach departing for Dover soon.’

  ‘You’re in luck, Guv. One’s about to arrive ‘ere in just ‘alf an hour or so. And…wait a minute, let me check my logs…’ Bustling over to his counter, he started leafing through a tattered, grease-stained book. ‘Ah yes, ‘ere we ‘ave it! Three seats in the Dover coach are still empty. Looks like there’s gonna be plenty of room.’

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I hurried over to one of the tables scattered throughout the room and settled down. I hadn’t dared to use my disguise twice to reserve seats for me on the coach. If Karim had seen and followed me, my whole plan would have been ruined. It had been a bit of a gamble, hoping that there would still be empty seats. I guess I was in luck that France wasn’t as popular a destination nowadays as it had been during the Napoleonic Wars.

  ‘Here you go, Sir.’ The innkeeper hurried over and placed a tankard of ale in front of me. ‘It won’t be long.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  In my quiet corner, I watched and sipped my ale while more and more people filed into the inn’s common room. Some came from outside, some from rooms on the upper storeys, where they had obviously been staying. Trying not to be too obvious, I scanned the people with whom I would be spending the next few hours. There was a clerk in a cheap suit and bowler hat and a harried look in his eyes that I remembered seeing in the mirror on busy work days, several ladies, a travelling salesmen who made his rounds through the common room trying to sell everyone brushes and cheap perfume, and a grumpy old fellow who muttered to himself in French. None of them looked overtly menacing or dangerous. Still, I was glad I had my revolver in my pocket. You never knew.

  ‘Excuse me, may I sit here?’

  Looking up, I saw the harried-looking young man, who was clutching a briefcase in his arms. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder towards the other tables, where the ladies sat scattered, talking animatedly, and gave a little shudder. ‘I can’t sit anywhere near them. They keep talking like hyperactive parrots, and that salesman is constantly trying to sell them the latest perfume from Paris. I guess he hasn’t realised yet that most of us are going to Paris.’

  ‘By all means.’ I patted the chair next to me. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Thanks so much!’ Breathing a sigh of relief, he dropped into the chair. ‘I need a spot of sanity among all those females.’

  Pulling open his case, he removed multitudes of documents. Without wasting a moment, he started scribbling, his eyes hectically flitting from left to right.

  Leaning forward, I glanced over with professional
interest. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but that should be 21, not 12.’ I pointed at the offending line.

  ‘Oh dear! Thank you! Thank you so much. I don’t know what Mr Wallace would have said if I’d gotten that wrong.’

  ‘My pleasure. You’re doing balance sheets?’

  The young man’s eyes lit up with the recognition of one tortured soul in hell spotting another sinner. ‘Yes! Are you a bank clerk, too?’

  ‘No.’ I grinned. ‘Worse. Private secretary.’

  ‘Keeping a calendar is torture, isn’t it?’

  ‘You have to do that, too?’

  ‘Yes. But Mr Wallace calls me clerk instead of private secretary so he can pay me less.’

  ‘I have a feeling our employers would get along well with each other.’ I extended my hand. ‘Linton. Victor Linton.’

  He took it and shook it. ‘Edgar Phelps.’ His little chicken chest puffed out with pride. ‘I work for Mr Wallace at the Bank of England. And you?’

  ‘Oh, no one that special,’ I said, wiping a stray dust moat from my tail coat. ‘You may have heard of Rikkard Ambrose?’

  He nearly dropped off his chair. I’d had no idea that name-dropping could have such literal effects.

  ‘The Rikkard Ambrose?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, glancing down at my fingernails with humility that was about as genuine as an antique statue sold in the East End for two shillings and thruppence.

  ‘My goodness! Working for him must be so interesting.’

  A series of scenes flashed before my inner eye—Mr Ambrose Ambrose pulling me against him in his office and kissing the breath out of me, Mr Ambrose and I bare-skinned under a Brazilian waterfall, Mr Ambrose gazing into my eyes and asking me to be his forever….

  I felt a little tug at my heart.

  ‘You have no idea.’

  He sighed. ‘I wish I had seen what you have seen. I wish I had experienced what you have experienced.’

  I choked, the mental images in my head suddenly not quite so pleasant and a lot stranger than before. ‘No, you don’t. Trust me, you really, really don’t.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I bet you can learn so much from a man like Mr Rikkard Ambrose.’