by Robert Thier
‘Mr…Linton…’
‘Mmmmh?’
‘I…you…’
I slid an arm around him, pulling him close, and his words drained away. I snuggled closer, revelling in his warmth, and a few minutes later, the world followed his words, slipping away into nothingness.
*~*~**~*~*
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Mmmm…’
‘Mr Linton!’
‘’ts not time to get up yet, Ella… Let me sleep a little longer.’
‘Mr Linton, wake up! We have stopped.’
Blinking, I yawned, dragging in cool winter air. The cold revived me a little - but only a little. Getting up at five a.m. was showing its effects. It was only then that I realised my head was resting in Rikkard Ambrose’s lap. I blinked up at him.
‘Oh. Hello there.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Linton.’ He nodded to me. His body was as stiff as a board. ‘Your head is lying on my papers. You are obstructing my view.’
‘Then why didn’t you wake me earlier?’
‘I…’ A muscle in the side of his face twitched, and I realised that he had one arm around my waist, holding me against him. He, too seemed to suddenly notice that and let go as if I were on fire. ‘I cannot have you sleep-deprived. I need you at your full capacity when we arrive.’
‘Oh. That’s it, is it?’
He slid out from under me, letting my head thud onto the bench. ‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ Groaning, I sat up straight and pulled the blinds partly aside. ‘Why have we stopped?’
‘The horses need rest. And the rest of us have certain business to take care of, too, I believe.’
I stared at him. ‘Here? You want to hold a business meeting out here, in the middle of the country on the Northern Road? Mr Ambrose, dedication to work is all well and good, but this-’
‘Not business business, Mr Linton. A…well…another kind of business.’
I stared at him for a few moments - but then, when the full feeling in my lower regions started to call attention to itself, I got it.
‘Oh! Oh, I see.’
‘Indeed.’
I stared at him. ‘You have to pee?’ I asked, morbidly fascinated. I had always assumed he lived on the smell of money alone and had no digestive organs.
He gave me a cool look. ‘I have to fulfil the same bodily functions as any other adult male.’
‘And you’re planning to do it here?’ I glanced out of the window again. Outside, it was snowing heavily, and the wind was howling. ‘Bloody hell! You’ll be lucky if you don’t freeze off your-’
‘Finish that sentence the wrong way, Mr Linton, and it will cost you a week’s wages.’
‘ - fingers.’ I threw him a grin. ‘Well then, good luck.’
‘Good luck yourself, Mr Linton. You’re going first.’
I blinked at him. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘When and how exactly have I given you the impression that I tend to joke?’
‘But…aren’t we stopping at an inn, later?’
‘No. It’s a ten- to twelve-hour drive up to the North, well manageable within one day. Why waste money on an inn if we don’t have to?’
‘Because…how to put this delicately…no matter how often you call me “Mister”, there are still a few anatomical differences between me and the average man, differences which make relieving myself while standing rather difficult. So if you don’t want me to greet your mother in wet and smelly trousers, we should definitely stop at an inn.’
‘Oh.’
The expression on his face was priceless. I tried my best to disguise my grin - but failed. He couldn’t get out of the coach fast enough. As soon as he’d left, I fell over, collapsing in hopeless giggles. Minutes later, when Mr Ambrose returned to the coach and ordered Karim to start driving, I was still smiling. God bless the female bladder! I had no intention of driving all the way through to the North in one go. Oh no. I had plans that involved me, Mr Ambrose and a cosy little room at an inn somewhere, where we could huddle together and….
Well, you get the picture.
*~*~**~*~*
‘There! There, do you see? I see lights right up ahead. That has to be an inn.’
‘I suppose so.’ Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look. ‘And you really can’t manage the last twenty miles or so?’
‘You don’t want to see - or smell - what happens if I try.’
‘Indeed.’ Mr Ambrose slammed his cane against the roof. ‘Karim? Stop at that inn!’
It was early evening and the sun had just begun to set as we drove into the inn’s courtyard. Through curtains of falling snow, I saw the landlord and a maid standing at a window, their noses pressed against the glass, staring out at us with eyes as big as saucers. They probably didn’t get many visitors up here this time of year, and even fewer who were being driven around by a big Indian with a turban on his head.
‘Karim?’
At Mr Ambrose’s call, the big Mohammedan slid off the box, landing in the snow with a dull thud. A moment later, he appeared beside the blind-covered window. ‘Yes, Sahib?’
‘Go ahead and see if they have a room free, and if everything is secure.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
And he was gone. A moment later, I heard the front door of the inn squeak, and all chatter inside ceased immediately as the huge sabre-bearing bodyguard stepped inside. There was a moment of silence during which you could have heard a pin drop, then Karim’s gravelly thunder of a voice proclaimed: ‘My master has arrived. You there, fat man - you have a free room for him. If not, make one free now.’
You had to love Karim. He was simply so nice and sociable.
‘I shall search this building now. Anyone harbouring malicious intent against the Sahib, make your peace with your God!’
And the door slammed shut.
I raised an eyebrow at Mr Ambrose. ‘Check to see if everything is secure? Right smack in the middle of the United Kingdom?’
‘I have my reasons.’ And I noticed that his hand hovered just over the place where he usually carried his gun.
Holy moly! What kind of family reunion is this going to be?
‘The estate,’ Mr Ambrose said, very slowly and precisely, as if he had to force every word out, ‘of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh is only a few miles away from that of my parents.’
Oh.
That piece of information would have been kind of nice to have earlier. Like, for instance, before I nagged him into coming here?
Too late now, Lillian. You dug your own cesspit, so you‘d better jump in.
Karim reappeared before the window. ‘Everything secure, Sahib. I have spoken to the fat man with the apron and secured accommodations for you and-’ he threw a look at me ‘-and your companion.’
‘You didn’t waste money on more than one room, did you?’
‘Certainly not, Sahib. They only have one free room in any case. The others, the fat man tells me, are full of winter supplies. They were not expecting guests.’
‘Then where will you sleep?’ I demanded. Sharing a bed with Mr Ambrose was one thing, but Karim and his beard was where I drew the line!
Karim straightened to his full height, puffing out his chest. ‘In the stables. I am strong and resilient and do not fear to suffer in Ambrose Sahib’s service.’
And he strutted away, very satisfied with himself for freezing his toes off and in the process saving his employer a few pence.
‘Come on.’ Gripping the door, Mr Ambrose pushed it open, letting snow swirl inside on a gust of cold wind. ‘Let’s go, Mr Linton.’
And, leaping down into the snow, he started toward the inn, his long legs eating up the distance fast. Grabbing my suitcase from the top of the carriage - of course, Karim had stowed away Mr Ambrose’s luggage and left mine to soak in the snow - I hurried after him.
Inside the inn, we were greeted by a collection of patrons frozen solid into statues, all staring at the giant Indian who was standing guard next to the door
, glaring at them as if any of them might draw a dagger at any moment and rush towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose. They didn’t seem to me to be very intent on doing any rushing - except maybe out of the room. But nobody dared to move. Ale dropped from half-raised mugs. Somewhere in the background, a tea kettle whistled in shrill protest.
Mr Ambrose let his gaze wander over the assembled crowd - then turned away without a word, facing the innkeeper.
‘One room. One night. No food.’
‘Ah, um…yes, Sir.’ The innkeeper fumbled with his apron. ‘Your man already explained your requirements.’
‘Adequate. Oh, and my employee here needs to use your facilities. If you would have a servant show him the way…’
‘Certainly, Sir! I’ll call Tom and-’
The innkeeper cut off as, suddenly, there was a movement in the small crowd of patrons. At the very back, an old man leant forward, frowning at Mr Ambrose - then suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he shot to his feet.
‘No! It can’t be! Master…Master Rikkard?’
Plans Gone Awry
‘Master Rikkard?’ The old man stepped towards us, staring. Karim made a threatening step forward, his hand on the pommel of his sabre, but Mr Ambrose held him back. His gaze was riveted to the old man as if looking at a ghost. His face twitched, breaking his usual cold mask. ‘Elsby?’
‘It is you, Master Rikkard!’
He started forward with arms outstretched as if to hug - yes, hug! - Mr Rikkard Ambrose, but then he realised that all eyes in the room were on him. His gaze flicked from the other patrons, over me and Karim, to Karim’s sabre, where they stayed for a long, long moment.
He froze.
‘Ah yes.’ In an instant, Mr Ambrose’s face smoothed out, and he was back to his cool, impenetrable persona. ‘Let me introduce you. Karim, Mr Linton - this is Charles Elsby, my father’s steward. Mr Elsby, this is Mr Linton, my private secretary, and Karim, my bodyguard.’
‘Um…charmed.’ Elsby’s gaze was still on Karim’s sabre. Slowly, he raised his eyes to those of the Mohammedan and gave him a weak smile. Karim didn’t smile back.
Finally, Elsby’s gaze returned to Mr Ambrose. Swallowing, he took another step forward - and stopped. It seemed like he had much to say and no idea how to say it in front of so many people and one very sharp sabre.
‘Making the rounds of the tenant farms, I suppose, Elsby?’
‘I was.’ Taking a deep breath as if he’d just come to a decision, the old man stepped towards the door. ‘But not any longer. I’m heading straight home to let His Lordship know you’re coming.’
My ears pricked up. His Lordship? Not Lord Dalgliesh, surely!
Hopefully?
Please, please, please?
‘I hardly think that is necessary.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was a whip of biting ice. Elsby flinched, but then squared his shoulders and opened the door.
‘Begging your pardon, Master Rikkard, but oh yes, it is.’
And with that, he left the inn, shutting the door behind him. A few errant snowflakes that had fluttered inside drifted to the ground, where they melted instantly. Mr Ambrose didn’t melt. He just stood there, frozen like a block of ice - then suddenly whirled around and marched across the room and up the stairs. Somewhere above, a door slammed hard.
For a moment or two, utter silence reigned in the common room. Finally, the landlord stepped forward with a kettle in hand and a desperately hopeful smile on his face.
‘Um… hot tea, anyone?’
*~*~**~*~*
I took some time to empty and refill myself. The inn not only had decent lavatories, but, astonishingly, decent cooking, too. True, I had to pay for both out of my own pocket, but so what? I could afford it. And besides, I had some time to kill. I couldn’t go upstairs yet. I suspected Mr Ambrose needed some time to himself.
After three helpings of roast ham, I finally put my fork down, nodded at the landlord and started upstairs. The inn was quiet, any sound from outside dampened by the softly falling snow. Our room was at the very end of the corridor, far away from any prying eyes and curious ears. I hesitated in front of the door, Amy’s words echoing in my mind.
And when ye and him are alone next time in a nice, quiet place…
Was it time?
I wanted him. Was here and now the right time to take what I wanted?
Bad Lilly! You saw how upset he was! You can’t coldly and ruthlessly take advantage of him in a situation like that just to get what you want, can you?
Of course I could. I had learned from the best, after all.
I took the last few steps to the door. When I cautiously cracked it open, I expected Mr Ambrose to be asleep or pouring over his papers as usual, but he was doing neither. Instead, he was marching in circles, his back ramrod straight, every step like a punch to the poor wood floor.
The door slid shut behind me.
All right. If I wanted to make my move, now was the time. We were alone in his room together. It was a cold winter night. And with the state he was in right now…
Watch carefully, I heard Amy’s voice whisper in my ear. Wait. And when the time has come, when he’s weak and defenceless - pounce!
I licked my lips. Now was time. I had to pounce! Now! I had to pounce, now!
So why wasn’t I pouncing?
Damn! Why hesitate, Lilly? Do it already!
But he just looked so…so alone. So terribly alone.
Well, go and do it! He won’t feel alone once his clothes are off, and you and he…
Wouldn’t he?
I glanced away from him. As if by magic, without asking my permission, my legs carried me over to the bed and I slid under the thin blanket, fully clothed. Shivering, I curled up into a ball. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Rikkard Ambrose: he was standing in front of the window now, his arms behind his back, his posture as stiff as a rod of iron.
I felt a tug at my heart.
Dammit, Lilly! Your heart is not the part of your anatomy you wanted to focus on tonight.
I couldn’t help it. I was forgetting all about my insidious seduction plans for the night.
Finally, he unfroze from his post at the window and silently moved towards the bed. Another tug at my heart - he was being quiet because he didn’t want to wake me. Mr Rikkard Ambrose being thoughtful? Impossible! And yet…
Stiffly, he lifted the other end of the blanket and slid into bed.
Now! Now’s your chance. Jump him! Make him see you. Make him want!
Instead, all I did, was whisper softly into the darkness: ‘Feeling a bit restless?’
He gave a little jump as he realised I was still awake. For a long time, no reply came. Then…
‘Yes.’
I bit my lip. ‘Nervous about seeing your family again?’
‘Yes.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why, to demand answers to all my questions, or better yet, demand that he take his clothes off and let me ravish him.
Instead, I simply turned towards him and, reaching out into the dark, found his hand.
For a moment, he stiffened like a spring under tension - then slowly relaxed under my touch. Oh, how I wished it wasn’t so dark. What I wouldn’t give to see his eyes right now…
‘Don’t worry.’ The words seemed to be pulled from my mouth without my knowing how or where they came from. ‘I’m here.’
His grip on my hand tightened. ‘I know. I…’
‘Shh.’Sliding over, I snuggled up against him. ‘No words. Just… I’m here. Always.’
The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was his arm sliding around my waist, holding me close.
*~*~**~*~*
Light. Bright, white light. That was the first thing I saw when, with all my might, I managed to drag up one eyelid the next morning. Yawning, I rolled over. My hand reached out - only to find that I was alone in bed. From downstairs, I could hear a familiar cool voice barking orders, and smiled into the cushion.
With another yawn, I pu
lled myself up and slid out of bed, padding over to the window on unsteady feet. The sight that greeted me took my breath away.
Out there lay a winter wonderland. Over rolling hills and high-rising trees lay a sparkling blanket of snow, painting everything in an angelic white. The sun, peeking through the trees at the horizon, was just beginning to tinge the land in a faint hue of gold. A deer stuck its head out of the forest, blinking in the morning light - then dashed off across the fields, leaving its tracks on the virgin snow.
Daring. Wanting to leave its mark.
I smiled.
‘Mr Linton?’ came a familiar voice from downstairs. ‘Mr Linton, I know you’re awake! Stop wasting time and get your posterior down here. We’re leaving.’
My smile widened.
‘Coming, Sir!’
And I was. Whatever dangers awaited us out there in the cold - we would face them together. Grabbing my suitcase, I took just enough time to straighten my clothes in the hope it wouldn’t be quite so apparent I had slept in them, then exited the room and started down the stairs. When I arrived in the common room, the innkeeper was just trying to persuade Mr Ambrose to stay for breakfast.
‘But Sir, you can’t go to Battlewood this early! His Lordship and Her Ladyship won’t even be up yet.’
‘They’d better be,’ was Mr Ambrose’s curt reply. ‘I didn’t travel all this way for nothing.’
‘Sir! I don’t know who you think you are, but this is the Marquess and Marchioness Ambrose we are talking about! You can’t simply appear on their doorstep at this ungodly hour of the morning!’
‘Oh, I can’t, can’t I?’ Reaching out, Mr Ambrose shoved the fat little man aside. ‘Mr Linton?’
‘Right here, Mr Ambrose, Sir!’
‘We’re going. Come!’
The innkeeper had gone very white in the face. ‘A-Ambrose?’
I gave him a pat on the head in passing. ‘I don’t think the marchioness will mind terribly if we’re a bit early. Mothers usually like it when their sons come to visit.’
And I followed Mr Ambrose outside into the sparkling snow.
The coach was waiting for us, freed of snow, all four horses ready and waiting, and Karim standing next to them like an extremely large, extremely bearded watchdog. He held open the coach door for Mr Ambrose, then slammed it shut so I had to open it again myself. Ah, the manners of a true gentleman…it was a wonderful thing to experience. Simply wonderful.
