...an empty corridor?
A completely. Bloody. Empty. Corridor.
"Err...Mr Ambrose? Did we go the wrong way?"
No answer.
I glanced over at him, frowning. "Hey! I asked a question. Did we go the wrong way? "
Still no answer. Only then did I take a closer look at Mr Rikkard Ambrose and noticed he wasn't looking straight ahead anymore. No, his gaze was firmly focused on the walls. Or, to be more precise, on the portraits hanging on the walls.
So many portraits, every single one of them showing certain similarities. True, there were differences in styles and attires, but one thing was repeated over and over and over again: stony, expressionless faces, and dark, sea-coloured eyes staring down at me.
"As I thought." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Ambrose's fists clench. "The gallery."
With the icy eyes of innumerable Ambroses still staring down at me, I didn't need to ask what kind of gallery.
"Mr...Mr Ambrose?" My voice was nothing but a whisper. Somehow, it didn't seem appropriate to talk at a normal volume in this place. "What are we doing here?"
Why would the old Marquess Ambrose come to visit such a place? And, more importantly, why were my husband's eyes burning with icy anger when they stared at his own ancestors, as if they were indeed a band of bank-robbing pixies.
For the longest time, I didn't think he was going to answer. Finally, I reached out and gently took his hand, giving it a squeeze. No words were needed to convey my meaning.
You can trust me.
"I..." He hesitated, his lips about to slam shut again—until he finally pried them fully open and started to talk. "I can't be sure. Not completely. But knowing my father...after that letter, and what Fernsby told us..."
"Yes?"
Mr Ambrose's clenched fists tightened. I could almost hear the creaking of bones. "This whole thing with Adaira is a sham. A pretence, in order to lure me here. And there is only one thing that his goal could be. One thing the old blaggard could want. And that is—"
"Ehem!"
At that sound, Mr Ambrose's voice cut off abruptly. Whirling around, we came face-to-face with a nondescript servant in livery.
"What," Mr Rikkard Ambrose demanded, his icy voice falling on all present like a hammer blow, "do you want?"
The man took a step back, swallowing. "I, um..."
"Out with it, man!"
The servant stiffened. "Yes, My Lord! His Lordship the Marquess sent me to fetch you."
My dear husband's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. I wasn't exactly free of suspicion either.
"Fetch me?"
"Yes, My Lord. You and Mr Linton." The man sent me a nervous look. "He said he had come to a decision. Something...something about a contest?"
***
The night was silent and peaceful above the wealthy districts of London. Only the gentle lapping of the Thames against the shore and the occasional mewing of a cat disturbed the nocturnal serenity. Until...
Thud!
"Ow!"
"Pshht! Do you want my mother to hear you?"
"No! But neither do I want to ram my toes against a sharp piece of metal! Why the heck do you have a pickaxe lying next to your back door, Patsy?"
"In case stupid men come to bother me, of course."
A thoughtful pause.
"Hm, well...that makes sense I guess."
"I know. Now keep it down and follow me. We've only got one chance of sneaking out of here."
"And whose fault is that?"
"Oy! Don't look at me like that. I phrased my request for our little trip perfectly reasonably."
"And by reasonable you mean telling your father 'We've gotta go beat up some bastard macho man who's making a move on our friend, and chop his dick off if we get the chance'?"
A pause.
"All right, maybe I could have worded that better."
"You don't say."
"But in my defence, I still say any reasonable parents would have let us go."
"Ah. Is that why mine threatened to lock me in the cellar when they heard about it?"
Another pause.
"Reasonable parents are rare these days."
"Patsy?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up and move!"
Inconspicuously—or as inconspicuously as three young women in hoop skirts and carrying heavy luggage could be—the group of friends moved away from the house. Only to come to a complete halt a few moments later, when they arrived in front of a wrought iron fence.
"Eve? Flora?"
"Yes, Patsy?"
"How did you get in here when you arrived?"
"Err...through the gates? It was still daytime. The servants just let us in."
There was a pause.
"Damn!"
"That's one way of putting it."
"So...did anyone bring a ladder?"
Roughly half an hour, a lot of cursing and ladder-searching later, three shadowy figures could be seen clambering up an iron fence. The first one hesitated for a moment at the top.
"Oh my...I feel like a burglar. Do you think there are any bobbies around, Patsy?"
"Get down right now before we find out the hard way, you bloody idiot!"
"Good idea. There's just one problem with that, Patsy."
"Yes?"
"How? There's no ladder on the other side."
"Slide down the fence posts, numbskull!"
"Oh. Yes, that should work. Should be rather easyyyyyyyyaaaaah!"
Thud!
"Ow!"
Back at the house, a light lit up, and, a moment later, one of the windows slid open. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
"Oh heck! They've heard us! Run, everyone! Run!"
"Heeeelp! Burglars! Burglars in my home!"
"Run, girls! Run!"
It was only when they had put three streets and a good bit of distance between themselves and the annoyingly unreasonable parents that the girls dared to slow down again.
"That...pant, pant...went well...pant!"
"Oy! What's with the sarcasm? We got away, didn't we?"
"By the skin of our teeth!"
"Um...girls." Flora, always the peacemaker, raised her hands. "How about we postpone this until after we've met up with the others and are on the way to save our friend from a horrible fate?"
They grumbled at that, but they complied. Together, they made their way down the street, following the well-known route to the coach stand. Only, this time, they wouldn't be renting a carriage for a trip to Hastings for a nice holiday at the beach.
"Amy? Ella? You there?"
"Patsy! Where were you? We expected you to arrive hours ago!"
"Be quiet and get inside! They're probably still on our tail!"
"They? Who are you talki—"
"Go, go, go!"
Brooking no argument, Patsy shooed the others inside. In a blink, she had crossed the room and appeared in front of the clerk.
"Tickets north for three!" Patsy demanded, pushing some money over the counter.
The man held his hand out with a smile.
Reluctantly, Patsy shoved some more money into it. "And not a word to my parents."
Instantly, the coins disappeared, and the man's smile widened. "As you wish, Miss."
"In retrospect," Eve commented, "maybe we should have gone to a station that hasn't been used by our families to travel since we were five."
"And go to da other end of the city?" Amy cocked an eyebrow. "Right into da East End?"
Eve gulped. "Forget what I said."
It didn't take long for the coach to be ready. Eagerly, the five girls got on and, having deposited their suitcases on the luggage rack, sank into the plush seat.
Reaching out, Patsy slammed her parasol against the carriage roof. "Oy! Let's go!"
"Aye, Ma'am!"
A moment later, the carriage jerked forward, setting out down the street towards the north. With a grin on her face, Patsy leaned back in her seat and met her friends' eyes. "We've done it, ladies! We're on our way north. Soon enough, we'll be at Battlewood, and we'll rescue Lilly and Adaira from the evil macho chauvinist who wants to force himself on our friend!"
"Exactly!" Eve smirked and cracked her knuckles. "Just as soon as we reach Battlewood!"
"Hear, hear!" Ella smiled and clapped.
"Hell yes!" Amy decided to show her agreement by giving the aforementioned macho chauvinist the finger.
"Err..." The four of them glanced over at Flora, who had raised a cautious hand.
"Yes?"
"I don't know whether anyone has already thought of this, but..."
"Yes?"
"We've never actually been to Battlewood Hall, have we? Do either of you know where exactly in the North it is?"
For a moment, perfect silence reigned over the night. Then...
"Crap."
***
Contest?
I blinked. What kind of contest? Why would the marquess be holding a...?
Then I remembered some things I might have said to the vicomte earlier while trying to talk out of my arse and sounding appropriately macho-manly. Things that, clearly, no sensible person would take seriously.
Yes, Lilly dear. But were you talking to a sensible person or to a man?
Good point.
Drat! Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.
"Well," Mr Ambrose's voice reached my ears through my mounting panic, as if from far away. "Then we had better get going. We wouldn't want to keep His Lordship waiting, now, would we?"
I felt a firm hand on my arm and, a moment later, found myself manoeuvred out of the portrait gallery and back into the entrance hall. There we were joined by Adaira, who, apparently, had also been summoned by his Mightiness the Marquess. We were halfway up the stairs before my brain started working again.
"What are you doing?" I demanded. "Where are you taking me?"
"To my father, to hear what he has to say, I would presume," answered Adaira for her brother, her tone far too chipper for my liking. Grabbing hold of my other arm, she batted her eyelashes up at me, and I began to heavily regret not putting on a dress before coming up here. "Weren't you the one to suggest a battle of champions to win my hand and heart, oh knight in shining armour?"
"Yes, but that's because I thought it was a stupid idea and nobody would ever actually go through with it!"
"Well it is," she happily agreed. "But just because of that you thought he wouldn't go through with it? You know this is my father we're talking about, right?"
I sent her a death-glare, which she cheerfully ignored. "You might have warned me about that earlier!"
"I might have." A dreamy sigh escaped her. "I guess I was too busy dreaming about my love, and how he would ravish me on the wedding ni—"
Her words were abruptly cut off by my hand clapping down over her mouth.
"Don't. You. Dare."
"Mmmmph..." came her muffled voice from behind my hand. My fingers could clearly feel her lips forming a grin. "How forceful, Mifter Linton! If you apply yourfelf to my father'f challenge with the fame kind of fervour, you will be fertain to gain my hand."
"Challenges? Challenges? I'm not bloody Hercules, and I don't intend to go around strangling snakes and cleaning stables!"
"Oh?" In a blink, she had slipped out of my grip. By the way, I had been right. She was grinning. "Well, I suggest you polish your shovel, Mr Linton, because our manor's old stables haven't been cleaned in over a decade."
"There also haven't been any horses in the manor's old stables for over a decade," Mr Ambrose's cool voice cut in. "That is what the new stables are for."
The grin on Adaira's face was replaced by a pout. "Spoil my fun, why don't you?"
"I do. Regularly."
"That's not something to be proud of!"
"Indeed?"
"I have to say," I pitched in, sending a loving smile at my wife-to-be, "I have to agree with my future brother-in-law in this case."
"Traitor!" Adaira's lower lip jutted out a little farther. "If you continue like that, see if I still want to marry you!"
"Oh, really?" I perked up. "In that case, you are a horrible hag who should never be allowed to have any fun ever, on principle!"
"Pardon, Mr Linton? I didn't catch that. What did you say?"
I froze in place, my foot halfway up the next step. Then, wobbling, I slowly turned around to greet the newcomer.
"Oh, um...hello, Lady Samantha. I was just telling your daughter what a wonderful woman she is, and that I will do my very best to make her happy for the rest of her life."
"Aww..." At my answer, the older lady, who was currently coming down the stairs to the left, actually had stars in her eyes. "You're such a gentleman, Mr Linton!"
"Yes, he is, isn't he?" Before I could escape, Adaira linked arms with me once more, sending me a victorious smirk. "And I'm sure he'll do his very best to impress father and win my hand, right?"
It felt like swallowing acid mixed with warthog vomit, but somehow I got the words out. "Of course, dear. I would never disappoint my beloved."
...who fortunately isn't you, you bloody little minx!
"That's good to hear. Because I have..." Meaningfully, she wiggled her eyebrows. "...plans for us later."
"Now, now, you two," The marchioness admonished, much to my relief. "None of that now."
"Certainly, Your Ladyship." Dutifully, I inclined my head.
"At least not until after the wedding."
Oh God. I was doomed, wasn't I?
"Everyone," Mr Ambrose chose that moment to speak up. "It seems we have arrived."
Why, thank you, dear husband! Thank you so much for improving my mood.
"Well then..." No reason to put this off. Better to grab the bull by the horns and kick it in the bollocks. Flexing my fingers, I stepped towards the door in front of me. "Let's not keep the marquess waiting, shall we?"
And I pushed open the office door.
Inside, the vicomte, along with two of his servants, was already waiting. The spot behind the desk, however, was conspicuously empty. A moment later, a door to the side opened and the Marquess Ambrose strode into the room.
"Ah, you are all here, I see." With a dismissive glance, he took in the room. "Very well. Let's begin, shall we?"
Faking a smile, I performed a quick bow. Too bad I couldn't try my Ambrose impression here. "Certainly, Your Lordship."
"As you wish, Your Lordship," the vicomte agreed, inclining his head.
"Now...the vicomte has informed me of your idea." He nodded towards me. "And I must say, it is quite an ingenious one."
From beside me, I heard a snort. Instantly, the marquess's eyes flicked in our direction. "Something wrong with what I said, Adaira?"
"N-no, not at all." Hiding her mouth behind one hand, the little vixen faked a cough. "Just something caught in my throat. Do continue, Father."
"Hm." Straightening his lapels, the marquess returned his attention to the rest of us, most of his focus now resting once more on me and the vicomte. "As I was saying, quite an ingenious idea, and I approve. It is time to show who is most deserving of Adaira's hand, gentlemen! I have deliberated long and hard on what kind of task I should set you as your first challenge, in order for you to prove yourself. Then it finally occurred to me. The perfect challenge. Something that requires resourcefulness, skill and determination. Something that any gentleman should know how to do." His gaze pierced the people in the room. "I have decided on the perfect competition, and it is..."
----------------------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlepeople,
I haven't been watching the news lately because I found it too depressing during the COVID crisis. Life as a hermit can be quite enjoyable. Imagine my surprise when I went on a news website for the first time in a long time and found out that, now, there are apparently laws (in some countries) on how we must address each other.
So, from now on, "My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen" shall become the gender-neutral "My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlepeople" when addressing you. Not exactly historically accurate, but even a dusty, historical fossil such as myself must go with the times.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob