by Robert Thier
‘Certainly, Madam.’
As quickly as possible, I made my escape. In a corner of the room I spied a nice, big potted plant.
Wonderful! Just what you need to hide behind and take a few minutes’ break before you have to face the ballroom crowd again!
Moving inconspicuously towards my target, I looked left and right to make sure no one was watching and then slid behind the large, dark green plant - only to discover that somebody else had apparently had the same idea.
Ella stumbled back against the wall, giving a little shriek, which immediately cut off when she recognized me.
‘Oh Lilly, thank God it’s you,’ she whispered, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. ‘He isn’t lurking somewhere, is he?’
I took a peek around the potted plant. Wilkins was nowhere in sight.
‘No. At least I don't see him.’
‘Thank God,’ she repeated. ‘I swear to you, if he tries to stick another flower in my hair, I will collapse.’
‘Oh?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you told me… what was it again? Yes, that was it! You told me it was an honour to be courted by such a great noble, didn’t you?’
She blushed. ‘Of course it is! I only meant… I mean… I am very honoured, very honoured indeed. He is paying me an enormous compliment, singling me out like this, and I really, and I… I really am flattered that I among all the ladies should be chosen to be the object of his-’
‘Put a sock in it,’ I told her with a goodly dose of sisterly affection. Ella hung her head, still blushing.
‘You… I…’
‘You don't have to pretend. Not where I’m concerned. Tell me honestly: do you want to marry Sir Philip Wilkins?’
She squirmed. ‘Well… maybe not very much?’
‘So you want to marry him just a little, do you? Maybe just his ring finger and his left foot, and the rest of him can stay a bachelor?’
Ella suddenly seemed to have an intense desire to inspect her feet. She looked down, avoiding my eyes.
‘Um… if you put it that way… no. I don't think I do.’
‘And what about the rest of him?’
She made a minute movement. Among immovable pillars of salt, it might have passed for a headshake.
‘Say it,’ I encouraged her. ‘Do you want to marry Wilkins?’
‘N… n…’
‘Go on! You can do it! Do you want to marry him?’
‘No!’
‘Bravo!’ I rubbed my hands, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Excellent!’
‘Excellent?’ Ella looked up at me, desperation in her face ‘What’s excellent about it? Aunt Brank wants me to marry him!’
‘I mean it’s excellent you have admitted it to yourself. You normally don't do that. It’s the first step to problem-solving.’
‘Err… and the next one is?’
I waved my hand dismissively. ‘We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Just at the moment you look like you need something to restore your nerves.’
‘To be absolutely honest… I think that’s true.’
‘Well then, my dear little sister…’ I put an arm around her and steered her from behind the potted plant. I already felt better. It had always been that way for me. When I was busy solving Ella’s problems, my own suddenly didn’t seem as important any more. ‘I have just the thing for you. It’s called solid chocolate. Let’s see how you like it, shall we?’
*~*~**~*~*
Ella accompanied me willingly. We were about half the way towards the refreshment tables when somebody roughly grabbed me by the arm and whirled me around. When I saw who it was, I gasped in surprise.
‘There you are, strange lady!’
‘Patsy!’ I exclaimed, and then was swept up in a vice-like hug, ten times more forceful than my aunt’s had been. With complete disregard for our hoop skirts, which should have kept us at a respectful distance, Patsy crushed me to her, and from the region of my legs, I heard whalebones[38] groan and crunch.
‘Patsy,’ I gasped again, pushing her back and looking at her solid figure, her broad, gruff, oh-so-reliable face. For the moment all dark thoughts about Mr Ambrose were forgotten. ‘Is it really you? What are you doing here? How did you manage to get invited? I thought old Lady Metcalf can’t stand you and your modern ways!’
Patsy grinned.
‘Well, she can’t, actually, but she is an old friend of my mother’s and has to pretend to like me. More to the point, what are you doing here?’
‘Well you know how my aunt is, she always drags me to balls…’
‘Not here at the ball, silly! I mean what are you doing here in London, here in England even? I thought you had emigrated to Timbuktu or something! I haven’t seen you in ages! And don't tell me you’ve been driving around the park presenting yourself to the eyes of eligible bachelors. I know that’s what you’ve told your aunt, because I came by your house to visit when you were out. But I and the other girls have been in the park often enough and haven’t seen hide nor hair of you! What are you up to?’
I bit my lip.
Hell’s Whiskers, what to tell her?
I couldn’t tell her that I was working for a living, could I? Not that Patsy would have anything against it. On the contrary. I was certain she would wholeheartedly approve. But if I told her about my work, I would also have to tell her about Mr Ambrose. And for some reason I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to do that at all.
I opened my mouth, not knowing what I was going to say. Maybe a clever explanation would have come to me at the last moment. Yet before I could say anything, the decision was taken out of my hand by a very simple, very common event:
Beside me, Ella blushed.
‘Aha!’
Patsy pounced on her.
‘You know something, don't you? Out with it, Ella! Go on!’
Ella’s eyes flickered from side to side like those of a frightened deer. I sighed. Ella was no liar, and under the unconquerable force that was Patsy Cusack, only one result could ensue.
‘Lilly, um… Lilly is…’
‘Yes…?’ Patsy encouraged.
‘Lilly is seeing somebody. But don't tell anybody. It’s supposed to be a secret.’
‘Yes, a secret,’ I confirmed throwing a dirty look at her. ‘That’s why I asked you to keep it secret, by which I meant not tell it to anybody.’
With those adorable blue damsel-in-distress eyes of hers she threw me an apologetic glance. ‘I’m… I’m sorry Lilly, I just can’t… can’t lie about…’
My anger was snuffed out like a candle flame under a wet towel. Nobody could stay angry at Ella. Not even the chief of avenging angels.
‘All right,’ I grumbled with a shrug. It was to be expected. And it wasn’t like it had been the truth in the first place.
Turning my attention away from my little sister, I scrutinised Patsy. She hadn’t yet said a word in response to Ella’s disclosure. Her mouth stood slightly open, her lips were moving without producing any sound, and her eyes were unfocused. She looked like she had tried solving a complex mathematical equation and had ended up with 1009 = 0.
‘Seeing somebody?’ she echoed. ‘As in… a member of the opposite sex? A man?’
‘No, a hippopotamus,’ I snapped. ‘Yes, a man! What did you think?’
‘Frankly, I would have thought a hippopotamus would have been more likely!’
My fingers flexed. ‘Do you want me to clobber you with my fan?’
‘No need to get violent. I’m just shocked.’ She shook her head, dazed. ‘A man. Fancy that. Lilly Linton going over to the enemy.’
Reflexively, my chin shot out. ‘I’m not “going over to the enemy”!’
‘Really? Hasn’t your sweetheart asked you to shed your extremist political views about voting, working women yet? It'll happen, just you wait. And next you’ll get all silly and soppy and start knitting and sewing and saying that a lady’s proper place is inside the home.’
She shook her head in moc
k disgust, smirking.
‘And I had such a promising future in the movement planned for you. You could have gone far, my young friend. Too bad you throw it all away for a simple life of marital bliss.’
I knew that she was joking, of course - but in a way, she wasn’t. She really thought I was straying from the path and sacrificing my ideals.
Well, I’d show her!
With no work tomorrow, I would have plenty of time. Leaning towards her so that nobody else could hear me, I whispered: ‘Meet me with the other girls at ten o'clock tomorrow morning in Green Park, and I’ll tell you what I think a lady should be doing.’
She looked at me, a smile slowly spreading over her broad face, mingled suspicion and interest twinkling in her eyes.
‘What have you got planned?’
‘My secret for now.’ I winked. ‘Suffice it to say that I have overheard something which might be of interest to our little group of suffragists. We have work to do!’
*~*~**~*~*
The rest of the ball went by quickly, mostly because now I had something with which to occupy my mind. What the loose-lipped gentleman had told me about the meeting against the women’s suffrage in Hyde Park kept reverberating inside my head. Ideas were fermenting inside my busy bean. Soon they would develop into plans.
I spent the rest of the ball plotting the downfall of mankind and the rise of womankind. Most of my plotting happened together with Ella and Patsy in Lord Dalgliesh’s vicinity. This had multiple advantages:
The group around the lord was one of the thickest in the ballroom. Thus, whenever Sir Philip came in sight, we could shove Ella behind a fat duchess or broad-shouldered admiral, and she would be saved from another dance.
Whenever my aunt looked my way and saw me, right there, next to Lord Dalgliesh, she beamed as if it were Christmas and Easter put together. At least she wouldn’t be able to say I wasn’t trying.
For some reason, Mr Ambrose stayed far away from the group. This I found strange, because earlier he had made such a particular point of greeting Lord Dalgliesh as if they were old friends. But who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?
By use of this clever method of unpleasant-people-avoidance we were able to keep the nasties out of our hair for quite some time. Everyone else pretty much left us alone, too. I was rather startled when somebody coughed beside me, thinking that it was Wilkins who had seen through our ruse at last - but it was only a servant, who bowed to me politely.
‘Forgive me, Miss? Could you step aside? I have to deliver a message to His Lordship.’
Promptly, I did as he asked, and so did everyone else in the vicinity. I noticed, though, that they didn’t step back too far to hear what this mysterious message might be. It consisted of a letter the servant bore on a silver tray.
Arriving at His Lordship’s side, the servant gave another discreet cough.
‘I beg Your Lordship’s pardon? I have a message for you, My Lord.’
Lord Dalgliesh turned from the group of friends with whom he was laughing and joking and, seeing the tray, picked up the letter and eyed it over his aquiline nose.
‘Who gave this to you?’
‘Another servant, who would not divulge the identity of his master or mistress, My Lord. But he said you would know the identity of the sender once you opened it.’
Lord Dalgliesh’s gaze quickly flicked from right to left. Feeling all eyes upon him, intent with curiosity, he snatched up the silver letter-opener on the tray and cut open the envelope. He grabbed whatever was inside and pulled.
Out came not a sheet of paper, nor a card, nor anything else with writing on it. No, out came a lock of hair - blond hair to be precise. For a moment, everything was still around the little group, then discreet chuckles broke out among the gentlemen, and the ladies fanned themselves.
‘By Jove!’ a colonel in the Royal Dragoons[39] exclaimed. ‘I think it’s rather more likely this letter came from a lady than from a gentleman, don't you think so, my friends?’ This was greeted by affirmations and laughter from all sides. ‘Come on, Dalgliesh, tell us who the lucky lady is!’
For a moment. Lord Dalgliesh stood stock-still, not seeming to see or hear the world around him, concentrating only on the lock in his hand. Then, quick as a flash, he stuck it back into the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. Turning to the others, he smiled brilliantly and said: ‘Now, now, my friends, you would not want me to compromise a lady’s honour, would you? Besides, I assure you. This is far from being a token of affection. You might rather call it a declaration of war.’
The colonel laughed again.
‘A declaration of war, eh? On you? Then whoever sent this must be rather a formidable creature!’
Lord Dalgliesh’s smile broadened, yet at the same time I noticed it seemed to harden.
‘You never spoke a truer word, my dear Colonel.’
I shook my head. Somehow, I didn’t think the hair came from a woman. It had looked far too short for that. To be honest, I had no idea what to make of it, though I had the strange feeling that I should have been able to. All in all, it was far too strange an occurrence for my personal taste. As charming as he was, I vowed to stay far away from Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh in the future.
Then and there, I didn’t know how short a time it would take until that vow would be broken.
*~*~**~*~*
The evening was drawing to a close. Lady Metcalf was standing at the door, curtsying to her dear friends and to people she couldn’t stand but had to be polite to anyway. My aunt was in high spirits. She was so pleased about my dance with Lord Dalgliesh that she hadn’t even noticed that Ella had only danced three times with Wilkins during the entire evening.
Anne and Maria, on the other hand, were in a very bad mood. They had been forced to listen to a prolonged lecture by my aunt on how I was doing better than they with seeking out prospective husbands. I did not relish the thought of getting in a coach with them but reasoned that there were five other people in the coach, so they could hardly try and beat me to death with their parasols.
I was just about to sneak past Lady Metcalf and get some fresh air before the coach ride when, suddenly, a gentle but firm hand placed itself on my arm and held me in place.
‘A moment, if you please, Miss Linton?’
It was Lord Dalgliesh. Over his shoulder I could see my aunt, making frantic gestures of encouragement. I would have to disappoint her. Somehow I doubted that the enigmatic nobleman wanted to discuss an engagement.
‘What is it, Lord Dalgliesh?’ I enquired, letting myself be steered into a small niche, where we were cut off from the view of all others in the room, including my aunt - to her severe disappointment, I was sure. Lord Dalgliesh placed himself between me and the rest of the room so I could not leave without his stepping aside. Suddenly, I felt a tiny twinge of unease. I would have felt more unease if not for the fact that the nobleman’s smile was so very reassuring.
‘I wish to ask you something, Miss Linton.’
‘Again?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘You are getting brazen, My Lord. This time you are not even offering to dance with me.’
He smiled brightly, seemingly pleased by my reply.
‘Indeed I am. Yet I have an excuse: the music has stopped, the musicians are gone. Will you still grant me my heart’s desire and assuage my curiosity?’
‘That depends on what your question is. Ask, My Lord, and we shall see about the answer.’
‘Very well.’ He leant forward. His steel-blue eyes bored into mine with a hypnotic intensity. ‘Whenever I looked up earlier this evening, I knew I was being watched. Watched closely. The name of the one who watched me should be familiar to you, I think. It was one Rikkard Ambrose.’
I almost felt like laughing. He wasn’t watching you, I wanted to say. He was watching his dear darling Miss Hamilton.
But then my thoughts screeched to a sudden halt. Had he been watching Miss Hamilton? Whenever I saw them, Lord Dalgliesh and Miss Hamilton had been sta
nding right next to each other. Could it be that Mr Ambrose had been watching the former and not the latter? But why? He couldn’t very well be in love with Lord Dalgliesh, now, could he?[40]
A maelstrom of confused thoughts roared in my mind. I tried not to let any of them show, though. Instead I asked: ‘And what has that got to do with me?’
‘Simply this: Whenever Mr Ambrose happened not to watch me, his gaze was drawn to you.’
What?
‘A- are you sure? In such a large room as this ballroom…’
‘Trust me, I am sure.’ His Lordship stared at me, keeping his face carefully clean of any emotions. But I could see them in his eyes: mingled curiosity and incredulity. ‘He looked at you more than at any other person in the room, myself excepted.’
I felt a surge of triumph rise inside me and beat it down with everything I had. As nonchalantly as I could, I shrugged.
‘That may well be. I didn’t notice.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Most young ladies notice when Mr Ambrose looks at them.’
‘Perhaps I’m short-sighted.’ I stepped to the side, seeking to go past him. But there wasn’t enough room. ‘Your question, Lord Dalgliesh? My coach will be leaving soon.’
‘Ah yes, my question.’ He nodded. ‘I wish to know: What is Mr Ambrose’s interest in you?’
I wet my lips and, forcing my voice to be calm, said: ‘I was not aware that he had an interest in me.’
‘Let me assure you, he does. And I wish to know what it is.’ He concealed it well, but I could still read it in his eyes: the part of his sentence he would not speak aloud. Why on earth would one of the richest men of London be interested in somebody like you?
I felt my spine stiffen, and instinctively crossed my arms in front of my chest. ‘Should you not direct that question at Mr Ambrose?’
Ignoring my counterquestion, Lord Dalgliesh stated:
‘He danced with you tonight. He singled you out, in fact. All the other young ladies he danced with were ladies introduced by his host or ladies he could not help dancing with without giving offence. You on the other hand… You danced with him without being introduced. You had to have met before. Where was that? What happened?’
