Storm and Silence

by Robert Thier

  I can survive this.

  My eyes, which had reached out into the far distance, snapped back to Mr Ambrose.

  But he can’t.

  He seemed to read the thought on my face.

  ‘Mr Linton,’ he said, his voice colder than I had ever heard it, ‘you will be on one of those lifeboats. No discussion. This is an order.’

  ‘You can order as much as you want,’ I whispered. ‘I don't have any girl’s clothes. Nobody will believe I’m a woman.’

  ‘They will! I will make them believe!’

  ‘Why do you care anyway?’ My voice suddenly sounded hoarse. Was I catching a cold? Well, on the bright side, it wouldn’t really matter, because I would be dead soon. ‘Why do you care if I survive? If I drown, at least you’d be rid of me at last!’

  He took a step closer. His dark eyes, burning with cold fire, didn’t leave mine for a second. ‘Maybe I don't want to be rid of you.’

  I had to swallow. It was hard. ‘And maybe I don't want to leave you behind.’

  He went rigid, as if suddenly paralysed by some hellish poison - or a heavenly one.

  ‘Mr Linton, I…’

  Suddenly, the ship, hit by another wave, gave a violent lurch, and I was hurled forward, towards Mr Ambrose. His arms came up reflexively to catch me and, just as reflexively, his lips parted. There I hung, limply, in his arms. The force of the wave was spent. I was no longer being forced forward, and yet I was, by another wave, a wave of unknown emotions welling up inside me, keeping me moving, until his face and mine were just inches apart.

  I stared into his fathomless, sea-coloured eyes and saw in them volumes of unspoken words. For just the briefest of moments I thought I felt a gentle caress of his lips on mine - then, another wave hit, and I was thrown back, away from him.

  Crying out, I reached for something, anything to hold me upright and grabbed a coat hook on the wall. With my other hand I reached up to brush my lips. God almighty…!

  Mr Ambrose, too, had grabbed a coat hook to hold onto. He let go of it now, and fixed his eyes on me. The shock of the second wave seemed to have shaken him out of his momentary paralysis.

  He grabbed my hand.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I demanded, my voice breathy.

  His hand tightened around mine. ‘I’m going to see to it that you survive this night!’

  ‘I said I didn’t want to leave you!’

  The fire in his eyes sparked in a way that was both infinitely hot and infinitely cold. ‘Is that so? Well, you are just going to have to, Mr Linton.’

  ‘You can’t make me!’

  ‘There you’re wrong.’

  Before I could say or do anything, strong arms took hold of me and I lost my footing. It took a moment to realize: Mr Ambrose had swept me off my feet! I was so stunned, I didn’t even contemplate my natural response, which would be bash his head in with a parasol.

  But since I didn’t have a parasol, that wasn’t really an option, anyway, was it?

  Crash!

  Dazed, I watched him kick open the door and march forward. He was moving as if I weighed no more than a feather, and in a heartbeat we were outside again. If anything, the chaos had increased. The waves were twice as high as before - high enough to easily reach over the railing and roll over the ship’s wooden deck as if it were already part of the ocean. The passengers were all crammed together in one corner beside two flimsy-looking boats, secured to the deck by ropes. Each and every one tried to jostle forward, to get into one of those fragile promises of safety.

  Nobody paid attention to what we were doing - and that was a good thing. With me slung unceremoniously over his back, Mr Ambrose marched right up to the door of the cabin next to mine and drew back his foot. It came forward again in a lightning-fast movement and connected with the door with a thunderous crash that nobody noticed over the roar of the wind and the sea.

  ‘Mr Ambrose!’ I protested. ‘That’s Lady Timberlake’s cabin!’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, and drew his foot back again. ‘That’s why I’m kicking the door down.’

  Once more, his foot shot forward.

  Crack!

  The door burst inward, splinters of wood from around the lock flying everywhere. Not waiting for me to protest again, Mr Ambrose marched inside and slammed the door behind us. For a moment, we were in darkness. Unlike my cabin, where I had left a lamp burning, Lady Timberlake’s cabin was not illuminated, and even though there was a window, no light came out of the dark storm outside. The clouds had long blocked out the moon and the stars. They were gathering to cast the world into shadow, to use it as the dark anvil for the bright hammer of lightning.

  Suddenly, Mr Ambrose slid me off his back and more or less shoved me away. Panicking, I tried to grab him, but caught only empty air.

  ‘Mr Ambrose?’ I turned my head left and right, but could see only black. I didn’t want to be alone! Not in this dreadful chaos of death that was coming down on us. ‘Mr Ambrose? Where are you, Sir?’

  Silence.

  ‘Where are you, darn it?’

  Without warning, a light flickered to life in the corner of the room, and I had to shield my eyes from the bright invasion. Mr Ambrose stood there, holding a safety lamp, next to a large trunk that stood open beside Lady Timberlake’s bunk bed. As I watched, he bent down and pulled out something enormous, pink and frilly, which glittered in the lamplight. He held it out to me.

  ‘Put this on!’ There was no doubt in his voice, no room for hesitation or argument. It was a command. And I didn’t care.

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  ‘Never!’ I didn’t want to leave his side. I couldn’t. Besides, I, unlike poor old Lady Timberlake, actually had some dress sense.

  He took a step forward, the dangerous glint in his eyes intensified a thousandfold by the light of the lamp he held up. The flickering flame shone on his face and gave it a whole new appearance, the sharp angles thrown into clearer contrast, the hardness now more clearly visible than ever before.

  ‘You are going to change into female attire this minute, Mr Linton, or I swear, by all the banknotes of the Bank of England, I will rip your clothes of and stuff you into a skirt myself! Do you understand?’

  At any other time, the thought of him ripping my clothes off might have unleashed a torrent of forbidden images and dreams. Not now, though. Now, there was a real torrent coming for us. From somewhere not far away, I heard wood splintering, and the ship shuddered. It wouldn’t be long now.

  ‘Do you understand, Mr Linton?’ he repeated, enunciating each word, his teeth clenched. I couldn’t escape his penetrating glare. And somehow, I found, I couldn’t deny him.

  ‘Y-yes, Sir.’

  ‘Adequate.’ He nodded, turning on his heels and marching towards the door.

  ‘I’ll be waiting outside,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Don’t take too long. Your dressing room is sinking.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  I stepped out onto the deck. Mr Ambrose already awaited me.

  ‘You took your time,’ he observed.

  ‘It was difficult to get the dress on,’ I said, my voice as lifeless as the rest of me. ‘The buttons are at the back.’

  There were so many things I should have said. Yet that was all I could think of. The buttons are at the back.

  The ship swayed, and I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself. Mr Ambrose didn’t move an inch, somehow seeming able to sway contrary to the ship’s motion, so he was always standing ramrod straight. He held out his arm to me.

  ‘Shall we?’

  I stared down at it. Having dressed up as a man for so long, I had almost forgotten how a gentleman was supposed to behave to a lady, and that he was the former, while I was the latter. To have this resurface now that we were in danger of sinking into bottomless depths forever was the cruellest of mockeries. With shaking hands, I clutched his arm, and we proceeded down the ship, towards the clamouring crowd beside the lifeboats.

  Again, I heard t
he ship’s alarm bell ringing high above me. It suddenly, painfully, reminded me of church bells announcing a wedding.

  Ha! As if this was anything like a wedding. At a wedding, everything was white. Tonight, everything was in black. At a wedding, two people were joined for life. Tonight, two people would be divided in death. At a wedding, two people loved each other. He only hated me, didn’t he? He had said it often enough.

  I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose and saw that he, too, was watching me, his dark eyes burning with cold fire. I remembered his lips skimming over mine, and suddenly it struck me that in this last respect, maybe tonight wasn’t so unlike a wedding after all. My jaw began to quiver, and I could feel moisture at the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill over.

  ‘Don’t, Mr Linton.’ The voice was Mr Ambrose’s - but it was neither as hard nor as cold as usual. It sounded almost gentle. ‘It’s wet enough as it is.’

  I nodded hurriedly and clenched my teeth. I wouldn’t cry! I would be strong.

  We arrived at the sodden altar of our deadly wedding. The wedding guests didn’t seem too pleased to see us. Particularly, when Mr Ambrose started pushing through the crowd.

  ‘You there!’ one of the men shouted. ‘Stand back and wait your turn, like any of us!’

  Mr Ambrose shot the man a glare that could have frozen lava and held up our joined hands. ‘I’m not seeking a place for myself, but for this lady here.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ The man growled, not even bothering to look at me. ‘There are already heaps of women in the boats. All that were on the ship!’

  ‘Apparently not.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice remained calm and cool, but I when I glanced at the little finger of his left hand, I knew the truth behind the mask. The finger was twitching in prestissimo. ‘As you can see, there is still this young lady left, and…’

  ‘What, that strumpet?’ the man growled, glancing in disgust at my less than orderly attire. ‘Not a chance she’s getting into the boat with us. It’s time that honest men got a pla-’

  Mr Ambrose’s fist moved faster than a lightning bolt. The man was thrown backwards, driving people right and left, and slammed into the ship’s railing.

  ‘Just to clarify,’ Mr Ambrose said, still as cool as an iceberg. ‘I’ll be staying behind to make sure she gets on board safely.’

  ‘No!’

  The word was out of my mouth before I knew why or how. The crowd’s eyes snapped to me. Then, from me, they went to Mr Ambrose, and back to me again. Something appeared in their eyes then, some understanding I couldn’t quite reach, and they backed away. Mr Ambrose led me through their midst, though now I had started to struggle. I was finally starting to realize all of what he meant to do.

  ‘No!’ I protested. ‘You can’t stay behind! You can’t! I won’t let you!’

  He said nothing, just picked me up and deposited me in the lifeboat as if I weighed nothing at all. I tried to scramble out again, but the hands of other women grabbed me, holding me back. I could feel wetness stream down my face. Were those tears, or was it rain? The storm roared louder and louder.

  ‘Look after her, will you?’ Mr Ambrose asked Lady Timberlake, who was cowering in the boat, right beside me.

  The old lady nodded.

  ‘I will, young Sir! I promise. Such a lovely girl. She looks just like I when I was younger. Why, even her dress looks like one of mine! It’s almost like fate. I promise, nothing will happen to her.’

  ‘No,’ I mumbled, helplessly, not looking at her once. ‘No! Don’t do this!’

  I tried to reach for Mr Ambrose, but he retreated far away. Other people started to climb into the boat after me. Were they were men or women? I did not know. They could have been elephants, for all I cared. All that mattered was: he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t even try to get a place on the boat. He just stood there, staring at me as if his gaze, connected to mine, was his lifeline. I stared back, knowing that all too soon, that line would no longer hold. In such a moment, another man might have spouted goodbyes, confessions - he said not a word.

  From somewhere far away and unimportant, I heard a shouted command. The boat rose into the air and slowly began to be lowered over the side of the ship. I held Mr Ambrose’s gaze until the very last moment. When he vanished behind the side of the ship, I buried my face in my hands and slumped to the boat’s floor.

  This couldn’t be happening! We were supposed to have won! To have brought back the prize in triumph! This was impossible!

  With a violent jerk, the boat touched down on the roiling sea. Someone shouted commands - a man’s voice. So there were men aboard. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

  Over the yowling of the wind I heard the splash as oars dipped into the water. The little boat was carried away, dancing like an empty nutshell on the surface of the water. I felt just as empty. There were arms around me, and the voice of an old woman was muttering soothing nothings into my ear, but I didn’t feel able to respond, or even to hear. Some part of me wanted to fight her off, but my arms felt so weak, so terribly weak. This could not be happening!

  Glancing up through the wild veil of my hair, I saw the ship, far above and away, atop a giant wave, just as much at the mercy of the ocean as we were in our tiny vessel. For just a moment, I thought I saw a lone figure standing at the prow. Then my head slumped down, the rest of my energy used up. Tonight had simply been too much to be real. It had to be a dream.

  But you know it isn’t, came a voice from the back of my mind. Just as his kiss was no dream, either.

  I cringed, shuddering with pain. From above, I heard a crash, a giant roar, and thought That was the ship, splitting apart. I wanted to look, wanted to look so much, but could not. I didn’t have the strength.

  All I could do was listen. My ears strained to hear some noise, some sign that would tell me that the ship was still afloat, that he was still alive - but no such sound ever came. There was nothing but the crashing of the storm waves against the bow of the boat. And then, even that was gone, and there was only silence.

  THE END

  Special Additional Material

  A chapter from

  Mr Ambrose’s Perspective

  None of your Business

  Can’t you read? This is none of your business! I am not going to tell you what you want - and most certainly not for free! Close this book and leave. Now!

  …

  Did you not hear me? That was an order!

  …

  Why are you still here? Did I not give explicit instructions for you to leave? Let me put it another way: you are dismissed. Scram! Scat! Get thee gone! I know what it is you want, but I am not going to do it! I am not going to tell you my story.

  Why?

  You dare ask why?

  You have some nerve! Do you know who I am? No, you obviously don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t still be here, pestering me. Well, if you will not stop making a nuisance of yourself, you useless layabout, I’ll tell you why. Here are the reasons why I will not share my story, in order of significance:

  10. It’s mine. I don’t share what’s mine.

  9. I’m too busy.

  8. Very busy indeed.

  7. You are no more than a bug to me - easily squashed.

  6. I don’t waste my time on bugs.

  5. I don’t waste my time on anyone. Knowledge is power is time is money.

  4. This story contains secrets of immeasurable value. Secrets must stay secret. That’s the point of a secret.

  3. This story is mine. Do you hear? Mine! I don’t share. Not ever.

  2. And it’s about her.

  1. Remember what I said about never sharing?

  …

  You still haven’t left, have you?

  You still want my story?

  Well, I have to say I admire your persistence. If it is persistence, that is. More likely, you’re just too thick-headed to comprehend my warning.

  Very well…

  On your own head be it.

&nb
sp; *~*~**~*~*

  ‘Ah! Just breathe in that breeze! Feel that air filling your lungs! A hundred of Neptune’s sea-horses couldn’t get me and my ship away from here again! Old Blighty, England, home - there she is! Isn’t it a wonderful sight, Sir?’

  Silence.

  ‘And the weather - perfect for a coming home! Perfect for anything really! Smell that air, will you? I tell you, there’s no air anywhere in the world like good, clean English air! Don’t you think so, Sir?’

  Silence.

  ‘Ah, I know what you’ll say! You’ll say I’m being sentimental!’

  Silence.

  ‘But it ain’t that, Sir. I swear, it ain’t that. This old sailor’s been all around the world, from the Cape of Good Hope - which didn’t inspire me with much hope, let me tell you - to the rocky cliffs of Norway and back again, and let me tell you, there’s no place like Old Blighty!’

  Silence.

  ‘The green hills, the fields, the decent ale - and the people! The people are always friendlier at home, don’t you think? I always say the French are stuck up, the Germans stiff, but Englishmen - you won’t find a single Englishman who isn’t kind, polite and warm.’

  Stone-cold silence.

  ‘No wonder, considering. Who wouldn’t be cheerful on such a wonderful day! Ah, just breathe in the breeze, Sir, breathe in the breeze! Isn’t that wonderful weather, Sir?’

  Icy eyes turned on the captain of the ship. My icy eyes.

  ‘Which part, Captain? The fog, the cold wind, or the drizzle?’

  The captain, apparently immune to all forms of sarcasm, smiled brightly. ‘All of it! Isn’t it wonderful to be back in England? Admit it, you don’t get weather like this anywhere else.’

  I shook my head to rid myself of the worst of the incessant wetness, and pulled my hat deeper into my face. ‘Indeed you do not.’

  ‘Aren’t you happy to be back home, Mr Ambrose?’

  I threw the captain another look.

  ‘England is many things - but certainly not my home. I don’t have or need one.’