Silence Breaking

by Robert Thier

  ‘Your salary shall have to suffice.’

  Oh. Not that tough, after all, apparently.

  ‘Or you can simply sew your own new clothes,’ he suggested, bending and picking up something from the floor. Rising, he dangled the crumpled, stained little object in front of my face. ‘You seem to be talented at sewing.’

  ‘Oh.’ My ears turned fiery red. ‘Those were kind of an exception.’

  ‘You don’t say.’ Turning away, he continued to dress himself. ‘Tell me, Miss Linton - where exactly did you learn about these objects? Where would you acquire such specialised knowledge?’

  ‘In a whorehouse.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Freezing in mid-motion, he slowly turned around to spear me with icy eyes. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, not through participation. My lessons were purely theoretical.’

  ‘For the sake of the male patrons of that establishment,’ Mr Ambrose told me in a voice as cold as the heart of a glacier, ‘I hope that is true.’

  He looked so cold, so ruthless, so…adorable.

  Before I could think better of it, I had thrown myself at him, and my arms were around him, hugging him close. Snuggling my face against his solid chest, I drank in his warmth.

  ‘Miss Linton! We do not have time for such frivolities. Cease this immediately!’

  ‘Yes, Sir!’ I grinned up at him, and squeezed harder.

  A moment of silence, then…

  ‘You still have not let go, Miss Linton.’

  ‘Yes, Sir!’

  He gazed at me for a moment, apparently not sure what to say - and then he put his arms around me and pulled me close. In that moment, I wouldn’t have exchanged places with anyone, up to and including the Queen of England.

  ‘In my past, when someone declined a business offer of mine,’ he told me, his voice so low I nearly didn’t catch the words, ‘I have never in my life made a second proposal, let alone a third. Never.’

  ‘Um…yes. And?’

  ‘Marry me.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Leaning back until I could look into his eyes, I cupped his face in my hands. ‘You know my answer. You know I can’t.’

  His eyes were hard as bedrock at the bottom of the sea. ‘And you know I can’t take no for an answer. Not as long as I know that you love me.’

  Taking my hands in his, he slid them from his jaw to his lips and pressed one tender kiss on each palm. Just for an instant, his face softened a tiny little bit.

  ‘Just imagine what it would be like.’

  ‘Oh, I have. Trust me, I have.’

  ‘You would rather be my secretary than my wife?’

  I tried to smile at him, but I only managed to lift one corner of my mouth a little. ‘Well, with the former job I at least get one day off a week.’

  His face hardened again - and yet, the emotion in his eyes didn’t vanish. On the contrary. It burned with a cold fire bright enough to devour my soul.

  ‘I won’t give up. Not ever.’

  Why didn’t that surprise me?

  ‘I’m flattered. But for now…do you think it’s possible you could focus your energies on finding some clothes for me? I’ve already been quite impolite to our hosts by missing breakfast. I think your mother wouldn’t approve if I show up to lunch wrapped in a rumpled blanket.’

  ‘Indeed. That would be impolitic.’

  ‘And draughty. So…’ I batted my eyelashes up at him. ‘My lady clothes are all stored in my other room, a long way down the corridor. Do you think you can find something for me?’

  ‘Hm. Well, I suppose I can lend you something of mine. If you promise not to damage it.’

  ‘Thank you, oh gracious master of the double standard.’

  Giving me a look, he strode to the connecting door and disappeared into his room. I dropped the blanket back onto the bed and followed him.

  ‘Nothing I can find among my things will probably fit you very well, Miss Linton.’

  ‘I had deduced as much from the anatomic measurements I undertook last night, Sir.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. I was planning to to use your clothes to go to my other room and fetch some of my men’s clothes from there.’

  ‘Adequate suggestion. Here.’ He pulled a few clothes out of the wardrobe and turned. ‘Take thi-’

  That was when he caught sight of me.

  Without the sheet.

  Without anything.

  ‘Thank you.’ Doing the best curtsy you can do in your birthday suit, I pulled the clothes out of his unresisting hands. ‘With a tight belt, I should be able to make these fit.’

  Silence.

  Well, except for the footsteps.

  Wait - footsteps?

  ‘Hello?’ The knock coming from the door made me jump ten feet in the air. But it was the voice that nearly gave me heart attack. The voice of the very last person I wanted to enter this room right now. ‘Hello, Ricky? Son, are you awake?’

  Oh crap.

  The Last Day

  Things went very, very fast. One moment I was standing in front of Mr Ambrose, a bundle of clothes in my bare arms, the next, the man who had sworn eternal love to me pushed me over onto the carpet-

  Thud!

  ‘Ouch!’

  -and shoved me under the bed.

  ‘Nng!’

  Who said gentlemanly chivalry was dead? You simply had to admire a gentleman who assisted a lady with such swiftness. And the moment I was out from under this bed, I would show him my admiration with a swift kick in the butt!

  Right now, however, the only things in sight were his feet, and the rather smelly, dusty carpet. God, how long had it been since this thing had been cleaned? I would have to have a word with the chambermaid.

  Click.

  The door opened and another pair of feet, this one wearing pink shoes, entered the room.

  ‘Ah. Good morning, Mother.’

  All right - butt kicking postponed.

  ‘Rick! Are you all right, my son?’

  ‘Certainly. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Well, you didn’t show up for breakfast, and now I find you here looking all flushed and hot. Do you have a fever?’

  I glanced down at my lack of ladylike - or indeed any - attire. Yes, he definitely has. But not the kind you are probably referring to, Your Ladyship.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure? Let me feel your forehead. Lie down on the bed for a minute and-’

  ‘No! The bed is perfectly fine! And so am I.’

  ‘Oh. Um…very well.’

  ‘Stop beating around the bush, Mother. We both know you are not here because I missed breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. What do you really want?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Very well. You’re right. I did have another reason for coming here.’ Another pause. ‘I noticed you danced with Miss Linton last night.’

  Oh, yes, he danced with me all right! We danced fandango the pokum quite a lot…[21]

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘The two of you…get along well?’

  ‘As well as an employer can get along with the immature younger sibling of his secretary.’

  My mouth dropped open.

  Oh? So I was an immature younger sibling, was I? I’d show him immature!

  Snaking my arm out from under the bed, I tickled the back of his knee. He flinched and shifted to shield me from his mother.

  ‘So you have no - how should I put this - plans with regard to Miss Linton?’

  ‘Plans?’ Reaching a bit higher, I pinched him in the butt. He flinched again, then gave the bed a kick so a blanket fell down and shut me in. Damn him! ‘I have no idea what you mean, Mother!’

  In that moment, I was so very tempted to lift the blanket, wave at Lady Samantha and chirp ‘Good morning, Your Ladyship.’ So very, very tempted. But if I did that, there probably wouldn’t be any way to get around the marriage thing. Mr Ambrose would drag me to the altar with a lasso, if nece
ssary.

  ‘Oh. No plans at all?’ There was no way I could miss the humongous mass of disappointment in Lady Samantha’s voice. I almost felt bad for not throwing away my feminist principles and tying myself to a dictatorial chauvinist for the rest of my life. Almost. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. Miss Lillian Linton is nothing but a silly, immature girl with a tendency towards temper tantrums.’

  Bloody hell, he was a master dissembler! He sounded so convincing, you would never guess he didn’t believe what he said.

  Wait a moment…he didn’t believe what he just said, right?

  If he actually meant that, if he…oh, just you wait until I get my hands on you, Rikkard Ambrose!

  ‘I have no plans to be married in the foreseeable future, Mother. It would take a rare woman indeed to change my mind.’

  Oh. All right, maybe I wouldn’t strangle him after all.

  ‘Since you are here, Mother, I might as well take this opportunity to tell you-’

  Oh, really? You think right now is the best opportunity to talk to your mother, do you?

  ‘-I’m leaving Battlewood.’

  What?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Adaira requested-’

  Ordered, more like.

  ‘-that I come for Christmas. I have done so. Christmas has passed. The ball is over. I’m returning to London. I have business to take care of.’

  ‘But…you…your father-’

  He cut her off brutally. ‘If you thought that this little invitation would suffice to make me forgive him, think again. He hasn’t earned my forgiveness, and neither have you. You want to know why?’ Beyond the blanket, I could see the shadowy outline of his feet shift, taking a step towards her that would have had princes and kings quaking in their boots. ‘Ask my employees. I make people work for what they earn. Hard.’

  Yep. I can attest to that.

  ‘Rick…I’m sorry. So sorry. Your father and I…we…’

  ‘Don’t bother. I have heard enough excuses to last me a lifetime.’

  ‘Please, will you stay just a little bit longer? Stay and talk to him? Once? That’s all I’m asking, please. Just once.’

  There was a long moment of silence.

  And another one.

  And a third one, that lasted even longer.

  Finally…

  ‘Perhaps.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  The last days at Battlewood Hall flew by. I - or should I say Mr Linton - spent most of it with Adaira, taking long walks in the garden, planning vendettas against Adaira’s enemies in the neighbourhood and exchanging embarrassing details about her brother. We stood beside Lady Samantha as she saw off one guest after another, and gave marks on which disappointed girl made the sourest faces at Mr Ambrose. And all the while, Mr Ambrose didn’t give a single hint that he intended to go upstairs to see his father. And his father most certainly did not seem willing to come downstairs to see his son.

  Maybe they would get to talk to each other if the house collapsed?

  Finally, the day of departure dawned. Rolling over in my (Ambrose-free) bed, I gazed out of the window. The sun was shining bright through the window. Snow still covered the landscape, but it had slowly begun to melt. And maybe, I thought as I felt a twinge in my heart, the snow isn’t the only thing that’s melting away.

  We were leaving this place. Times were changing.

  ‘Mr Linton! The sun is up! Why are you lazing about? Let’s go! Knowledge is power is time is money!’

  I smiled. Well, maybe not too much.

  Sliding out of bed, I dressed in women’s clothes and grabbed my parasol. My ‘brother’ Mr Victor Linton had already left yesterday, after a tearful goodbye from Lady Samantha and lots of barely suppressed giggling from her daughter, to prepare for Mr Ambrose’s arrival in London. His journey hadn’t been very long, and had only consisted of a three-mile circle back to the rear of Battlewood Hall. Lilly Linton’s journey would be a little bit longer. The road to London would be tough this time of the year.

  Breakfast passed in a friendly mood with lots of lively chatter (between Lady Samantha, Adaira and me) and icy silence (between Mr Ambrose and Mr Ambrose). It was really quite impressive how he managed to give himself the cold shoulder, as well as everyone else in the room. I didn’t let myself be offended, though. I knew exactly what was behind his especially arctic mood.

  Breakfast came to an end and the servants rushed in to clear the plates.

  ‘Darling?’ Lady Samantha cleared her throat. ‘If you want to before you leave…It’s time to go see your father.’

  Mr Ambrose raised his eyes from his plate and speared his mother with the glacial gaze that was reserved for debtors and people calling him ‘darling’.

  ‘Please,’ she said, giving him big, blue puppy dog eyes.

  Still, his gaze remained ice-cold and unmoved.

  I kicked him under the table.

  ‘Aargh!’

  ‘Yes?’ Lady Samantha, whose hearing was apparently optimistic enough to mistake ‘aargh’ for ’yes’, perked up. ‘You’ll do it?’

  My dear employer threw me a look that told me I would be paying for this later. I didn’t particularly mind. I had recently discovered a rather interesting way of clearing debts with him.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

  ‘Oh, Rick! Thank you! Thank-’

  ‘Have the coach readied for departure,’ he cut her off. ‘This won’t take long. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  And, rising to his feet, he marched off towards the grand staircase leading up to his father’s chambers.

  For a moment, the three of us sat in silence. Then Lady Samantha folded her napkin and rose with a worried little sigh.

  ‘Well, I think I’d better go and make sure that the carriage is ready.’

  I waited until the door had closed behind her, then quickly jumped to my feet, too.

  ‘Well, I think I’d better go and-’

  ‘-listen at the keyhole to find out what my brother is saying to Father?’ Adaira finished with a small, innocent smile.

  I grinned at her. ‘If I didn’t already have six of them who’re nothing like me, sometimes I’d think you could be my sister.’

  Like a pair of dust devils, we raced off towards the staircase. Except for my short foray up the stairs when I’d needed a good vantage point to shoot at Lady Samantha’s latest guest, I’d never been upstairs before. It was a different world. Whereas the lower levels of the house clearly bore signs of Lady Samantha’s influence, with pink cushions, pink flowered wallpaper and vases that held roses which were - surprises, surprise - pink, the upstairs was dominated by paintings and busts of austere-looking gentlemen, massive dark wood furniture and a general air of impending doom that proclaimed ‘Danger! Male Ambrose in residence!’

  Clearly, this was the domain of The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose.

  ‘What now?’ I whispered.

  ‘Father’s study is over there.’ Adaira pointed down a corridor lined with portraits of noble ancestors giving us disapproving looks.

  ‘How welcoming.’

  ‘Yes, Father is really warm and fuzzy.’

  We proceeded through several majestic rooms and down high hallways. Finally, Adaira raised her finger to her lips - which either meant I still had some breakfast stuck on my lip, or we were approaching our goal and I should keep quiet. I went with the latter. Cautiously, I stuck my head around the last corner - and instantly pulled it back.

  ‘There are two goons in livery standing in front of the door!’

  ‘Drat!’ Adaira bit her lip, thinking. ‘Maybe…no, that won’t work. But perhaps…yes!’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Come with me!’

  And she drew me through a door leading off to the side, into a small salon with the ugliest turquoise-beige flower-pattern wallpaper I had ever seen in my life.

  ‘What are we doing in here?’ I enquired. ‘Planning emergency redecorating?’

  ‘No, of course not! Alth
ough, now that you mention it, that would actually be a great idea. No, we’re here for this.’

  And she pointed to a set of French doors opening on a balcony.

  I needed no further explanation. In an instant, I was at the doors and outside in the fresh air. The balcony - praise the architect - had a solid stone railing, perfect for hiding two curious girls. And as luck would have it, the window to the neighbouring room stood open a crack. Fate clearly approved of eavesdropping.

  Unfortunately, the wind didn’t seem to share fate’s opinion. It was blowing hard, making both of us shiver and, more importantly, drowning out half of the words that came from next door. But the other half, the words that we heard…

  Oh boy.

  Au Revoir

  ‘Son.’

  ‘Father.’

  Translation:

  I would like to murder you with a rusty axe.

  Yes, thank you. The same to you.

  ‘So you came.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Silence.

  Silence colder than ice.

  Silence colder than the primordial cold before fire was invented.

  ‘Well?’ The two voices were alike, but never in a million years would I mistake Mr Ambrose for his father. His father’s voice was cold and ruthless in a way that made me want to scrub myself. Mr Ambrose’s voice was cold and ruthless in a way that made butterflies dance in my stomach. ‘I am waiting, Father.’

  ‘Waiting for what?’

  A noise as if from a shifting glacier came from inside. I thought for a moment Mr Ambrose had truly turned into an iceberg - but then I realised that he was just cracking his knuckles. ‘A ‘thank you’ would not be a bad idea, to start with.’

  ‘Me? Thank you? You, who have dragged our family name into the mud?’

  ‘I dragged you out of the mud, father! Out of debt, and despicable poverty! You and the rest of our family! Do you remember where I found you? Do you? You should be thanking me on bended knee!’

  ‘Insolent boy! You will show me the respect due to your-’

  The winter wind howled, cutting off whatever Mr Ambrose was supposed to show respect to. It didn’t matter. I could have told the Marquess he wouldn’t do it. The only things Mr Rikkard Ambrose showed respect to were ones with the £-symbol on them.