by Robert Thier
Her shoulders sagged.
‘Does my son hate me this much, then?’ she wanted to know, the pain evident in her voice. ‘What did he tell you to do with all my letters? Destroy them?’
Yes. He did.
‘No! No, he didn’t.’
Wait! What did you just say, Lilly?
‘He wouldn’t have any of them destroyed! He told me to keep them all safe.’
Stop lying! Stop lying right now! Tell her right now that you’ve been stockpiling them against his express orders!
But I had to give the poor woman something to cling on to, hadn’t I? I couldn’t just destroy every last bit of hope she had!
‘Here, you see?’ Bending down, I ripped open the lowest drawer of my desk and held up a whole pile of pink letters as evidence.
‘They’re unopened.’ Her voice was trembling. ‘He hasn’t read them?’
‘I think it’s too painful for him.’
Poppycock! Stop lying, Lilly!
‘The expression on his face when he looks at the letters is so tender and painful-’
…or maybe rather cold and disdainful? Stop lying right this minute!
‘-I can’t imagine the feelings that must be tearing through him.’
She closed her eyes again for a moment. Opening them once more, she stepped forward, and placed a hand over mine, lightly squeezing.
‘Thank you, Mr Linton. You are a good man.’
Not really. Trust me. I checked last time I took a bath.
‘And as a good man-’
Oh God! Here it comes…
‘…I ask you to hear a mother’s plea. Please. I’ve tried to stay away. I’ve tried to respect his wishes. But I can’t let him do this to himself and his family any longer. I have to see my son.’ Her eyes bored into mine. Bloody hell, if they just didn’t look so much like his! I felt my defences crumble. And then came her last cannon shot: ‘Please.’
That’s it. I’m fired.
I took a deep breath. ‘You know…’
‘Yes?’
‘I think I’ve been mistaken. I just remembered that Mr Ambrose didn’t say he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He said he wants to be disturbed. As much as possible, at every opportunity. Especially by mothers, and any other relatives that happen to pass by. So, by all means, go in.’
The smile that spread across her face was reward enough. I just hoped I’d still think so in three weeks when I had to fend for myself, out of work and without a penny in my pocket.
‘Thank you, Mr Linton! Thank you so much!’ She squeezed my hand again, then let go and slowly moved towards the door of Mr Ambrose’s office. ‘I won’t forget this.’
Oh, neither will I. He won’t let me.
Turning to face the office door, she raised her hand and knocked.
‘I said I didn’t want to be disturbed, Mr Linton!’ came a familiar, cutting and cold voice from inside. ‘What is it?’
She opened the door.
‘Hello, son.’
There was deafening silence.
She stepped inside, and the door fell shut behind her.
Half an hour had passed before the door opened again. She hurried out, a gleam in her eyes that I had only ever seen on the faces of mothers and deranged opium addicts. Nodding to me in passing, she left my office.
Silence reigned.
Long silence.
Then, Mr Ambrose stepped out of his office, his face as cold as the Antarctic in winter after an invasion by Nordic frost giants. His eyes snapped to me.
‘Tell me, Mr Linton,’ he demanded, his voice deceptively calm. ‘Did you listen in at the keyhole?’
My eyes widened innocently. ‘Me? Of course not!’
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘You had better not be lying to me, Mr Linton!’
‘I’m not! I swear on women’s right to vote!’
‘Women don’t have the right to vote.’
‘But they will have, soon!’
In a flash, Mr Ambrose had crossed the distance between us. His hands slammed down on my desk, and he leaned forward until my nose was only inches away from his clenched, rock-hard jaw.
‘If I ever find out that you have listened at the keyhole,’ he breathed, a thunderstorm roiling in his dark eyes, ‘you will be very, very sorry. Understood, Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir!’
And I did understand. Completely. Absolutely. Why would I listen at the keyhole, when there were so many better options available?
*~*~**~*~*
The door closed behind her. With ravenous curiosity, my eyes fastened on the closed door. Suddenly, I knew exactly how Pandora must have felt when she rattled that box, trying to find out what was inside. Mr Ambrose’s mother! Good God! What secrets I could discover here! She must have known him before he turned into a block of stone - back when he had actually been a human being!
In front of my inner eye passed the seal on the pink envelopes that I had seen so many, many times: undoubtedly the coat of arms of a noble family. And yet, Mr Ambrose used no title. Not duke, not baronet, not lord, not even ‘the right honourable so-and-so’. He was just ‘Mister’. Cold. Hard. Short. Efficient. And strangely, a hundred times more alluring and powerful than any noble title would have been.
Where had he come from? Why would he deny his noble roots? Especially if there was money to inherit? Why had he spent years and years in the Colonies? Why was there enmity between him and Lord Dalgliesh? A thousand questions - and the woman behind that door probably held the answers to all of them!
And the best thing was: I wouldn’t even have to ask her!
Quickly, I jumped to my feet and rushed over to the door. All right, I admit it! I hadn’t let her in out of the goodness of my heart! I had completely selfish motives! That didn’t mean my heart wasn’t still good, a tiny little bit. But ‘g’ came after ‘c’ in the alphabet, just like goodness came after curiosity.
Falling to my knees in front of the door, I was about to press my ear to the keyhole, when I hesitated.
What was I doing?
Why listen at the keyhole? After all, Mr Ambrose had kindly provided me with my own surveillance equipment. Rushing back to my desk, I snatched up a horn that was connected by a tube to the wall. Ordinarily, it was used by Mr Ambrose to bark orders at me or any of his other employees that happened to be unlucky enough to catch his attention. Today, it would be used for a different purpose.
Taking a deep breath to calm my breathing, I lifted the horn to my ear. For a few moments, there was absolute silence. Then -
‘Mother?’
I hardly recognized Mr Ambrose’s voice. For one moment, it almost sounded as if there were actual emotion in it.
I shook my head. It probably was just the distorting effect of the long rubber tube. The first time I had listened to him speaking through it, he’d sounded like a deranged nightingale with a severe speech problem.
‘Ricky.’
I nearly bit my tongue off. Ricky? Ricky?!
The thought of anyone referring to my employer by that name made me feel faint. I suppose, on some level, I knew that his mother probably hadn’t referred to him as ‘Mr Ambrose’ or ‘Sir’ while he’d been growing up, but it was still a shock.
‘W-what are you doing here?’
Had I heard right? Had he just stuttered? Mr Rikkard ‘don’t-use-unnecessary-time-wasting- syllables’ Ambrose?
It had to be a trick of the bad connection.
‘I came to see you, son.’
‘How did you get in here?’
Oh, bugger!
‘That nice young secretary of yours let me in.’
‘Did he, now?’
Blast, blast, blast and double blast!
There was a rustle of papers from the other end of the tube. I could just imagine Mr Ambrose building up a wall of important documents between himself and the unwanted visitor.
‘Why did you wish to see me?’ His voice was suddenly back to the cold, calculated tone I knew and l
o- Well, the tone I knew and had gotten really used to, anyway. ‘I am a busy man, Mother.’
‘I know, Ricky. I just…I had to see you, son. It’s been so long…’
‘Not long enough.’
There was a noise - it sounded like an anteater blowing its nose. Or maybe it was a mother in pain.
‘Is that really how you feel, son?’
‘I don’t feel. I know.’
‘But after all those years…can’t you forgive? Even a little bit?’
‘Do you know what happened to me during those years, Mother?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not. If you did, you wouldn’t have dared to ask that question.’
The soft clicking of her heels sounded through the tube. She had taken two uncertain steps forwards.
‘Won’t you return home, Ricky? Please?’
‘Why should I return to someone who did not stand by me?’
‘I tried! I really did! I - ’
‘Don’t lie to me! You know what happened! You were there. And you never said a word!’
Silence.
Silence more deadly than any I had heard before.
Finally, Mr Ambrose spoke again, his voice as cold as an arctic grave: ‘No. I will not come back for your sake.’
‘Then don’t do it for me. Do it for Adaira.’
I stiffened. Adaira? Who the hell was Adaira?
‘Don’t you dare bring her into this!’ There was a threat in Mr Ambrose’s voice now - real danger, maybe even for his mother.
She didn’t seem to care.
‘Oh yes, I will bring her into this! She misses you, Ricky! She has missed you ever since you left!’
Bloody hell! Mention who she is already, will you?
But nobody seemed inclined to grant my silent wishes.
‘She loves you, son. If you don’t believe that I love you after what has happened, believe in her.’
Love him? Love him? Who the heck was this little witch?
‘Is there anything else you wanted to say, Mother?’ I could feel the ice crystals growing on Mr Ambrose’s voice all the way through the tube. ‘I have important business to attend to.’
‘More important than your family?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘Even Adaira?’
Silence.
But I didn’t mind. I had gotten my answer: family! She was family!
‘Your father is holding a celebration next week at-’
‘I do not care!’ He cut her off like an executioner the head of a condemned man. ‘I will not attend any celebration of his!’
‘It is Adaira’s birthday.’
Silence.
This time, it wasn’t cold, though. I could feel a definite atmospheric thawing from the other end of the tube.
‘She’ll be introduced into society, Ricky. I want you to be there.’
‘I don’t care what you want!’
A pause. Then:
‘She wants you to be there, too.’
Another pause.
‘Ricky?’
Silence.
‘Ricky? Will you do this for her?’
More silence. Quite extraordinarily silent silence. Original, inimitable Ambrose Silence.
‘Ricky, please, I…’
‘Where?’
His voice was like a freshly sharpened blade of ice.
‘At the hall.’
‘Of course!’ The ice-blade flashed with dark danger. ‘Of course, it would have to be there!’
‘Thanks to you, it can be. Without you, we-’
‘Don’t!’ Now, the ice-blade lay at her throat, ready to strike. ‘Don’t thank me! Don’t you dare!’
‘But I have to! Without your generosity-’
I took my ear away from the tube, stuck a finger inside, turned it in the hope to remove dirt, and reapplied the ear. Had I heard right just now? Generosity?
‘-without your kindness, we would never have-’
Apparently, my ears still weren’t working properly. Kindness? Mr Masterfully Merciless Ambrose?
‘Silence, woman!’
And there was silence. I didn’t know many men who could silence their mothers with a single command. In fact, I probably didn’t know any. But Rikkard Ambrose managed without the slightest problem. The silence that echoed on the other end of the tube was absolute. It was the silence of unspoken secrets, deep hurts and dark deeds in a long-buried past.
It was she who finally broke it.
‘Please.’ Just that one word. ‘Please, Rikky.’
‘Don’t! Don’t ask this of me!’
‘If Adaira hears you didn’t want to come, she will be heartbroken.’
‘Heartbroken? She will be spitting fire!’
‘True.’ For the first time since the conversation had begun, there was the tiniest smile in Lady Samantha’s voice. ‘But she will also be heartbroken. Please - don’t make me tell her you didn’t want to come.’
Silence. And then:
‘I’ll come-’
‘Oh, thank you! Thank - ’
‘-if there is no important business detaining me! I will not put everything on hold merely to gratify the foolish wishes of a silly young girl, mother! I will come only if I have no reason to be elsewhere! More than likely, something will come up. If I don’t appear, don’t be surprised.’
I could feel Lady Samantha wanting to argue, but she and I both knew that this was the best offer she was going to get.
‘All right. If that is how you wish it…’
‘It is. And now get out, woman! I have work to do.’
‘Yes, of course. I shall tell Adaira to expect you.’
‘Only if nothing important comes up, Mother. Only then!’
*~*~**~*~*
‘Oh no,’ I confirmed once more, smiling up at Mr Ambrose. ‘I definitely didn’t listen at the keyhole.’
He stared at me for a few moments more, his dark, sea-coloured eyes boring into me with an intensity that made me shiver. Finally, he righted himself and nodded.
‘I see.’
Whirling around, he marched towards the window and planted himself there, tall and erect, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared out over the City of London. The light of the slowly sinking sun that flooded in through the windows cast a fiery halo around him, and he almost looked like an avenging angel.
Which was ridiculous, of course. Mr Ambrose would never work for anyone - not even for God. And most certainly not for free.
I don’t know how long he stood there. I didn’t dare move or make a sound. There was a tension in the air that went far beyond the normal deadly hostility radiating from him. Finally, when I had started to believe that he would continue standing like this until kingdom come, he said:
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Pack your things! I shall await you ready to depart at St Katherine’s Docks at 6 am tomorrow morning.’
I stared at his broad, rock-hard back. Maybe my ears still weren’t working correctly?
‘E-excuse me, Sir?’
‘I don’t excuse anything or anyone, Mr Linton. Most especially not you.’
‘But I don’t understand, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Why St Katherine’s Docks? Why tomorrow at six? Are we leaving?’
He turned around then, fixing me with his ice-cold gaze.
‘Don’t you remember, Mr Linton? We have an urgent business trip to go on.’
‘We have?’
‘Oh yes. Or, to be more precise, a treasure hunt. You had better pack thoroughly. We won’t be able to get anything we need in the jungle. South America awaits!’
Sneaking Away
Late at night, long after I had come home from work, and long after I should have gone to bed, considering what awaited me tomorrow morning, I snuck up the stairs towards a very special room in our house. My only light was a solitary candle, throwing flickering shadows on the wall. In its faint glow, I could see the thick layer of dust on the wooden steps, broken only by
a few solitary footprints.
God, Lilly…What are you going to do if he’s not up at this hour? Or worse, if he says no?
A stair creaked under my foot, and I froze. Except for me and the one I was going to visit, the entire family was deep asleep. Aunt Brank had no idea that I was up this late. If she had known, and if she’d had any idea what I was going to do, she would have been spitting fire.
You can only hope that he receives your plans better than she would.
It was probably a vain hope. But I had to try, at least.
Cautiously, I continued up the stairs and, at the top, continued down the hallway until I reached the solitary door that was my destination. Raising my hand, I knocked twice, softy.
‘Uncle Bufford?’
There was a moment of hesitation from behind the door, like the moment you would expect to pass if a vampire found someone knocking at the door of his coffin looking for blood donations. Then, a gruff, weary voice from inside called: ‘Enter.’
And I did.
It was dark inside the room. Only a single candle, burned down to a stump, illuminated Uncle Bufford’s study. He was sitting bent over his ledgers behind his massive oak desk, a frown on his face and a pipe jammed into the corner of his mouth. I knew that there wasn’t anything in the pipe. Uncle Bufford would die before spending a penny on anything as frivolous as tobacco. But the pipe was an heirloom from his great-grandfather, and it provided a convenient barrier that kept him from constantly gnashing his teeth together.
Just as he was trying to do now.
‘You?’
He pronounced the word as if London’s most wanted lecher and murderer had just entered his study.
‘Yes.’ I gave my best imitation of a demure curtsy. ‘Me.’
‘Put your candle out! Have you any idea how much candles cost, nowadays? One candle in the room is more than enough light!’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ Immediately, I moistened my fingers and extinguished the candle, giving him a look-how-obedient-I-am smile.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘You want something.’
Damn!
‘Why would you think that?’ I almost managed to make my voice sound injured.
‘Because people only ever come to see me when they want something. Usually money.’
‘Last time I saw you, I refused your money,’ I reminded him.
