Storm of Bells

22. A Little List is a Dangerous Thing

During the next few days, Mr Rikkard Ambrose became really, really interested in being married speedily. He had always been the very opposite of a time waster, but still, for some mysterious reason, he now seemed to be borderline possessed by urgency.

'What on earth is the matter with him?' Adaira muttered as she watched her brother marching up and down, barking orders at the poor, harried-looking servants.

'Can't ye see it, My Lady? It's love!' Vinnie sighed and rushed off to serve tea to Ella and Lady Samantha.

'Hm...no. That can't be all of it. Not with him.' Adaira's eyes narrowed, still following her brother. 'He's acting like there's a bee in his knickers!'

I delicately cleared my throat, and lowered my voice so Ella, Vinnie and any other innocents in the vicinity couldn't hear me. 'Trust me, there isn't.'

'I mean, what could possibly set off my brother like that? Who on this earth could—'

She froze. Then, slowly, her eyes swivelled to me.

'Lilly?'

'Yes?' I gave her my most best imitation-innocent smile.

'Is there something you want to tell me?'

'Depends. Do you want to know about what's in your brother's knickers if it isn't a bee?'

A pause.

'No. Most definitely not.'

'I thought so.'

'You there!' Mr Ambrose's barked orders drifted over towards us. 'The chairs go over there, in orderly rows of six, didn't you listen? Move! And you there, fetch the tablecloths!'

'Yes, Sir! As you say, Sir, except...this house hasn't been in use for years. We don't have any white tablecloths.'

'Then use bedsheets! God, do people nowadays have no imagination?'

'Yes, Sir! Just as you say, Sir!'

In record time, the manor was being restored to its former glory. While before, only a few of the big halls, used to display the various valuable knick-knacks and pieces of furniture for sale, had been in a decent condition, now, rusty, long-forgotten doors were being opened, dust covers were torn away, and dukes and marchionesses were being dusted. In portraits only, not in real life, by the way. At least as far as I know. If anyone attempted to take a feather duster to Lady Samantha, they didn't inform me.

The church, too, was being prepared for the big day. All the nice old ladies in the village (read: interfering busybodies dying for a chunk of gossip) were only too delighted to help with decorations and cleaning. All they required in return were a few juicy tidbits. Who would deny them just a few words of gossip?

Well...

I'll give you a hint. The last name of the answer to that question started with an A.

'Oh, good morning, Mr Ambrose. Isn't the church decoration coming along beautifully?'

'No.'

**insert startled pause here, due to first-time exposure**

'It... it isn't?'

'No.'

'Oh, um, I see.'

**old ladies exchanging nervous glances, then suddenly smiling**

'Ah! You're jesting. You're such a funny and sweet man.'

'No. I'm not.'

**insert another pause—a longer one**