Storm and Silence

by Robert Thier

He didn’t stop, didn’t answer. Just held up one admonishing finger in an abrupt movement. What the blooming hell… Oh, right. Be courteous. Be respectful.

  ‘Who was spying on you, Sir?’ I asked, my voice sweeter than a pot full of honey.

  He didn’t even glance around.

  ‘Can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Why the dickens not? Um… Sir?’

  ‘It is for your own good, believe me.’

  Oh, of course I believe you. Why would I ever doubt a word that comes out of your mouth?

  ‘Who is he? Who is this chap who’s hiring people to spy on you?’

  Mr Ambrose gave a snort. ‘I’m not sure that “chap” would be the right noun to describe him.’

  ‘Well, what would describe him, then?’

  He didn’t fall for the trap.

  ‘Adequate try, Mr Linton.’

  Not even good try?

  ‘Why won’t you tell me?’

  I looked sideways at Karim again, but although he tried not to let it show, he was just as nonplussed as I was. He didn’t know who this mystery man was either. And if Mr Ambrose’s motivations of not telling for our own good also applied to Karim…

  Eyeing the large sabre at the Mohammedan’s belt, I shuddered. Who in the world could be a threat to Karim? Who could be more dangerous than a sabre-wielding bearded giant? Maybe I really shouldn’t delve too deeply into this. Maybe it would be wise just to let it go.

  But then again, when had I ever been wise? If I were, life would be so very dull.

  ‘We could better guard against him if we knew who he was,’ I pointed out.

  I could see he’d rather have bitten his tongue off, but Karim opened his mouth.

  ‘She does,’ he said in a slow tone of voice as if he had to drag every word forcibly from the pit of his stomach, ‘actually have a point, Sahib.’

  ‘No, he doesn't.’ Mr Ambrose shook his head.

  We turned a corner and suddenly stood before the door into the main hall again. There Mr Ambrose waited till we had caught up with him. He stood, silent and still as a statue, facing the door as if he could see images there that were invisible to anybody else. We stepped up beside him, but still he didn’t move. Karim, who obviously - unlike me - didn’t have the intention of arguing with his master any more, felt the need to change the subject. He cleared his throat and asked: ‘Should I buy a ticket for Mr Simmons, Sahib?’

  Mr Ambrose twitched, seeming to awake from a trance.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The ticket for Mr Simmons. The train ticket out of London. Should I buy it and give it to him when he leaves the building?’

  There was one more moment of silence. Then Mr Ambrose shook his head. ‘He will be dead within a day of leaving this building,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Corpses need no tickets.’

  I paled and stared at him, wide-eyed.

  ‘D-dead?’ I stuttered. ‘But you said…’

  ‘Oh, I won’t kill him.’ He turned to look at me. There was a slightly different set to his mouth. If I didn’t know that he didn’t have such a thing as facial expressions, I would almost have said he looked… grim. ‘I won’t need to. He told me the name of his employer.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I know the man. Once he leaves this building, Simmons has only hours to live.’ He turned again and opened the door. ‘So you see, there’s no reason to waste perfectly good money.’

  Dysfunctional Dismissal

  Hours to live. He has only hours to live.

  The sentence, so calmly spoken, was still echoing through my mind while I followed Mr Ambrose up the stairs and through the hallway. I barely noticed Mr Stone’s greeting in time to return it.

  Hours to live. Only hours.

  Should somebody warn Simmons? Shouldn’t Mr Ambrose? But I saw that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to kill Simmons for what the man had done, but neither was he going to lift a finger to preserve his life. I knew that from looking at his face alone.

  ‘Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s calm and cool voice startled me from my thoughts. ‘Step into my office for a minute. There is a business matter I wish to discuss with you.’

  A business matter? Now? What about the fellow you’re setting up to have his throat slit?

  ‘Of course, Sir.’ Rolling my eyes, I followed him into his office. I should have guessed this was going to happen, of course.

  Knowledge is power is time is money, right?

  So we find out who has stolen this incredibly important document. What do we do next? Take a day off to celebrate? No, not with Mr Ambrose. There’s a ‘business matter’ to take care of. And after that, probably another. And another.

  I wondered what we were going to do. Start tracking this man down, whose name Mr Ambrose wouldn’t divulge? But then, what did he need me for? I could hardly look for somebody whose name I didn’t know. Not even with a sack full of onions was I that good.

  Mr Ambrose sat down behind his desk. I sat down directly opposite him in the visitor’s chair. Yet instead of cutting to the chase in his usual manner, he started arranging all the papers on the desk into neat piles.

  What the heck was going on? Was Mr Ambrose, Mr Save-time-or-die Ambrose, actually stalling? In other words, wasting precious moments that could be transformed into money?

  He was. Something was seriously wrong here. I bit my tongue to suppress the urge to ask. Only when the last piece of paper was where it was supposed to be did Mr Ambrose finally look up.

  ‘You will be leaving in an hour. Stone will pay you for your services rendered so far and order a cab for you to take you home.’

  I frowned. What was this?

  ‘I… I do not understand.’

  ‘It is very simple. Our employer-employee relationship is hereby terminated. You will receive a note of dismissal at my earliest convenience. Good day, Mr Linton. Do not let me detain you.’

  He looked down again and started to read one of the files in front of him as if I weren’t there anymore. It took me a few seconds to get it. To fully appreciate what he had just done. When I did, my hands clenched into fists.

  ‘You… you’re dismissing me?’

  ‘Indeed I am. Or rather, I already have.’ Slowly, he looked up again, fixing me with his dark gaze. ‘It would appear that you are still present. Perhaps you didn’t understand me. You are dismissed. Which means you can leave. Now.’

  ‘Why?’ I felt bloody moisture in my eyes. No, no! I was not going to cry in front of him! I was not going to prove right every single prejudice he had about girls, there and then. I was not an overly emotional, silly female! I wasn’t! I wasn’t! ‘Why are you doing this? What have I done wrong?’

  He cocked his head minutely. ‘Wrong?’

  ‘Bloody hell! Isn’t it sort of a rule that an employee can only be dismissed if they’ve done something wrong? What did I do? Didn’t I carry your files fast enough? Didn’t I dress male enough for you? Did I breathe too loud? Tell me, blast, what did I do?’

  He shook his head, but his eyes didn’t go with the movement. They remained fixed on me. His gaze was disturbing. I had never met a man filled with so much silent concentration.

  ‘You don't understand, Mr Linton. You didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘What?’ I blinked the moisture out of my eyes before it could spill over. ‘Then what is the matter? Why are you trying to get rid of me?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’ His hands on the desk curled up into fists. I could see that behind his calm exterior a storm was brewing. But I wouldn’t be put off by that. I couldn’t leave this job! Not now of all times. Not now that he was in trouble and up against someone dangerous!

  And since when have you started worrying about what he’s up against? Haven’t you got enough problems of your own?

  No, I didn’t. Problems were fun. Problems were adventure. Besides, I’d be damned if I left before I got my first pay cheque out of that miser!

  That miser was just now staring at me as
if he’d like to strangle me instead of pay me. In a very low, controlled voice he said: ‘Mr Linton… I’m no run-of-the-mill businessman who sells tin cans at the market. I have my own empire and consequently must deal with my own espionage and fight my own wars, Mr Linton. Right now, a war is coming.’

  ‘A… war? Over one piece of paper?’

  ‘Yes. A war. Possibly the biggest I’ve ever fought. I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire.’

  ‘Why?’ My voice was trembling. My bloody stupid, unreliable voice was actually trembling! ‘What do you care?’

  For a second I almost believed a muscle in his face twitched. But no, I was surely mistaken.

  ‘I…I cannot have a girl being in danger,’ he said, raising his chin determinedly. ‘Any girl. My honour as a gentleman forbids it.’

  Out of all the possible answers, this wasn’t the one likely to go down well with me. I leant forward over the desk, my glare almost matching his.

  ‘I’m not some helpless maiden who needs to be protected! I am a free human being and can do whatever I wish. And if I wish to remain in your employ, then I will remain in your employ until such time as I give you a reason to dismiss me, Sir!’

  Slowly, Mr Ambrose clenched and unclenched his fingers.

  ‘You know, Mr Linton, you have a way of saying “Sir” that makes it sound astonishingly like a synonym for “miserable chauvinist worm”.’

  ‘I wonder why that is.’

  There were a few moments of silent brooding. Nobody could silently brood like Mr Ambrose. He seemed to fill the entire office with an utterly still, quiet, silent and dark disapproval that was so thick you could choke on it.

  ‘So you won’t go of your own free will?’ he finally asked.

  ‘No!’

  ‘You, Mr Linton, are stupid and reckless.’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Ambrose?’

  ‘Yes indeed, Mr Linton.’

  Half a minute more of silent brooding followed. Oh yes, he could brood exceedingly well, and shoot sinister glances, too. But I wasn’t too bad myself.

  ‘Why won’t you go?’ he demanded.

  ‘You know why. This is the only chance I’ll ever get at a career, at independence.’

  And I don't want to leave you in your hour of need.

  The blasted thought was there, undoubtedly. But I couldn’t admit it out loud. I couldn’t even admit it to myself inside.

  ‘You could get killed.’ It wasn’t a threat. Not even a warning. It was simply a statement of fact.

  ‘I know, Sir. Would you pay for my burial?’

  ‘Are you completely mad?’

  ‘Not completely, no.’

  ‘Well, then you should leave right now!’

  ‘I won’t!’

  ‘I could make you leave,’ he threatened. ‘We both know that in reality there is no “Mister Victor Linton”. I could reveal you for what you are and make you leave so easily.’

  ‘You gave your word not to!’

  A cold hiss rose from his throat. ‘I never felt more like breaking it! You have no place here. It is all just a mirage. A phantasm. An insane dream of yours.’

  I leant forward some more, putting my hands on his desk.

  ‘What do you want?’ I hissed back at him. ‘What do you dream about? Have I ever asked, or dared to criticize?’

  The question seemed to catch him off guard. His mouth opened a little bit. ‘Well… no.’

  ‘Then don't you dare tell me my dreams are insane! Because my dreams are what I live for!’

  Silence again. This time, though, it wasn’t brooding. Rather, it was pondering. And so was he. He pondered for a while - a long while. In the end, I decided that this time I had better break the silence.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question, Sir.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘If I die, will you pay for the funeral?’

  He stared down at his fingers for a moment.

  ‘I don't know. It depends on how well you have served me. Maybe, if you’ve earned me enough money by then, I would consider it.’

  A grin spread over my face.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll keep your word? I can stay? In spite of the danger? In spite of being a girl?’

  ‘Yes!’ he growled. ‘Yes, you can stay - until and unless,’ he added, ‘you leave of your own free will.’

  My grin widened.

  ‘Ha! That’s not very likely, Sir!’

  Unclenching his hands, he carefully steepled his fingers together, gazing at me over the top. ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  ‘Why? What are you going to do? Make me carry twice as many files as before?’

  I could have been wrong, of course, about what I thought I saw next. Afterwards I thought I probably had to be wrong. Maybe he was having a muscle spasm around the mouth or something. But for a moment it looked like one of the corners of his mouth actually twitched up in the beginnings of a smile.

  ‘That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Mr Linton.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  I was feeling great. I had won! Against Mr Arrogant-Stone-Face Ambrose! I was feeling really great - until I got home that evening and saw the familiar coach of Sir Philip Wilkins standing in front of our house, with several servants in attendance.

  Blast!

  I immediately knew what that had to mean. On his previous visits, when Wilkins had come alone to see Ella, he had arrived in a small carriage with an open roof. The arrival of his largest coach could mean only one thing: a ball. And, moreover, a ball which not only Ella would be attending with him. No. We all would go.

  Including me.

  Me! Sweet little me, exposed to the horrors and dangers of a ball!

  Blast, blast, blast! Why hadn’t I heard of this? Yes, last time he had given us a last-minute invitation, but something like that was far from usual. Normally invitations to balls were issued weeks in advance.

  Why didn’t I hear about this? I could have started my protest in time, or hidden in the London sewers, or burned the house down!

  I saw my aunt step out of the door. Thank God I had already changed out of Uncle Bufford’s trousers, because a moment later she spotted me and gave me a self-satisfied smile. A very bad word escaped me that I was sure a lady shouldn’t use, especially to describe her own aunt. But I couldn’t help it. I realized what had happened. Of course! That witch had deliberately not told me about the ball so I wouldn’t find a way to get out of it!

  For a moment I considered running. I could escape into the dark streets of London and spend the night under a bridge, where surely it would be more comfortable than in a brightly lit ballroom with people everywhere wanting to dance. Nobody would try to step on my feet under a bridge, for a start. But then I remembered Ella and felt ashamed of myself. Hadn’t I promised myself that I would find a way to help my little sister get rid of Wilkins? And here I was shirking going to a ball along with her and her unwanted admirer.

  I had to go! I had to protect her from Wilkins' attentions as best I could.

  So, feeling as though I were walking towards my doom, I began to set one foot in front of the other, finally reaching the doorway.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Lilly!’ My aunt smiled a smile so devious it belonged exclusively to aunts and serial killers. ‘Do you know what? I absolutely forgot to tell you that we received an invitation to Lady Metcalf’s ball.’

  I closed my eyes. My fate was worse than I had imagined.

  ‘Lady Metcalf?’ I whispered, my voice resembling the last desperate vocal attempts of a victim of pertussis[34] before the grave claimed them.

  ‘Indeed. And Sir Philip is so nice as to take us all there in his coach. Isn’t that just wonderful, Lillian?’

  ‘I can hardly find words to express my feelings on the subject.’

  ‘Probably.’ She eyed me sharply. Suddenly, her voice became a lot less sweet and a lot more like that of a general. ‘Go upstairs and dress! I’ve laid your ball gown out for you and will expect you down here in five minut
es.’

  ‘We'll be leaving that quickly?’

  ‘No. But I’ll need to keep an eye on you. And I have a few words to say to you before we leave.’

  Oh-oh… This can’t be good.

  I hurried upstairs to change, determined to do it in under five minutes. Unfortunately, Ella wasn’t there to help me, so it took me over a quarter of an hour to squeeze into my ball gown. When I came down again, my aunt didn’t look at all pleased. I could hear Maria’s high laugh from the drawing room, and a door opening.

  ‘They are coming.’ Grabbing me by the arm, my aunt dragged me outside and shooed the servants away. She pulled me behind the coach and drew herself up to her full height.

  ‘Listen, girl! I don't know how you managed to scare off Lieutenant Ellingham…’

  I started to protest, to tell her that I had nothing to do with his disappearance, but she silenced me with one of those scary-aunt looks that made you want to put your head under a blanket.

  ‘I don't know how you scared him off,’ she continued in a low tone, ‘but I’ll wager it was by exhibiting the same appalling behaviour as the other night at Sir Philip’s Ball. Refusing to dance, indeed! There will be none of that tonight, little lady, none of your incivilities, none of your foolishness, nothing! You will behave yourself like a true gentleman’s daughter, or you will have to answer to me.’

  ‘But I don't misbehave on purpose,’ I said with rising desperation. ‘It just… happens. I’m not very good at judging what is ladylike behaviour and what isn’t. What should I do?’

  ‘Oh that’s easy.’ My aunt let her fan snap open and waved it experimentally. ‘Just do the exact opposite of what you’d like to do, and you’ll be fine.’

  Can I just say that remark miffed me more than a little bit? I wasn’t that badly behaved, was I?

  Was I?

  Well, maybe sometimes. When I felt like it. Which was, admittedly, most of the time. Oh, blast it! Very well. I would do as my aunt wished. Fixing a fake smile on my face, I curtsied as deeply as I could without keeling over.

  ‘Certainly, Madam. May I be permitted to withdraw from your presence? I wish to seek out my sister.’

  My aunt blinked as if she were seeing and hearing a mirage and not her own niece.