Silence Breaking

28. Silent Warfare

'Where?' Karim demanded, already out the door.

'Entrance.'

Holy moly! I was becoming as taciturn as Mr Ambrose.

Mr Ambrose...!

Tightly, I clamped down on the surge of fear in my chest. For just a moment, I stood and watched Karim dashing off down the hallway – then I turned and ran. I had my own task to accomplish. And it wasn't staying nice and safe in my room, as Mr Ambrose had not-so-subtly suggested. Instead, I ran – up two flights of stairs, down another corridor, and into the first room facing to the courtyard that I knew would be empty. Gasping for breath, I dashed to the window and pulled it open. Cold air flooded in, slapping me in the face. Gritting my teeth against the icy cold, I plunged my hand inside my tailcoat and pulled out the one item that, since Newcastle, I always carried with me, no matter whether dressed as a man or as a woman. A moment later, the barrel of the revolver settled on the windowsill.

It swivelled, searching, searching for...there! There they were!

My hand froze.

Right there underneath me, out in the courtyard, were Mr Ambrose and Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh. I zeroed in on the latter, noticing that the guests and ladies were gone now, and once more, His Lordship had his hand at his belt, close to where I knew his gun would be.

Do it, bastard! Go on, do it! One wrong move towards my man, one twitch of your finger and I'll...

With a click, I pulled back the cock of my weapon.

Neither of the two men down in the courtyard noticed. They were too busy trying to kill each other with the pure force of their eyes.

Mr Ambrose's voice cut through the air like a whip.

'What are you doing here?'

Lord Dalgliesh's voice was lower – the whisper of a snake in the grass. I could hardly hear it over the wind whistling around the manor house.

'To celebrate Christmas, of course. Isn't Christmas the season of hope, love, and forgiveness?'

There was a moment of silence.

'There are some things,' Mr Ambrose said, vivisecting Dalgliesh with cold eyes, 'that cannot be forgiven.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes!'

'Well, well...if that is the case...'

Dalgliesh's hand slid to his belt again. Up in my bird's nest, I tensed, my forefinger curling around the trigger–

–and suddenly, the front door burst open, and there he stood: Karim, in full battle regalia, ready to reign down wrath upon anyone who would dare to touch a hair on Mr Ambrose's hard head. In that moment, I loved the turban-wearing, sabre-swinging son of a bachelor.

'Ah.' Lord Dalgliesh's hand froze, his eyes narrowing. 'The lapdog has arrived.'

'No.' Mr Ambrose took a step forward, and Karim marched down the stairs, taking a place beside him. 'When my dogs arrive, you'll know, because they'll be biting your hand off. Now leave.'

'What?' Dalgliesh raised his eyebrows in mock shock. 'You are denying entry to a guest? And at Christmas to boot? That is not exactly following the rules of polite society.'

'I don't care. Leave. Now.'

Karim and Mr Ambrose started moving forward, circling Dalgliesh, pushing him backwards. The muzzle of my revolver shifted with their movement, not deviating a fraction of an inch from its target. The coachman on the box of Lady Howard's coach watched all this with eyes as big as saucers. This probably wasn't the kind of welcome he'd expected at the Christmas party of the Marquess of Ambrose.