Eventually I followed Ella out of the room and down the stairs. The torturers weren't far away. They were waiting to pounce on me on the landing.
"Finally! There you are!" Eve was in front of me like a flash. "What have you two been talking about in there? Never mind, never mind, I have more interesting questions right now, I can be nosy about Ella later. You have to tell us now! Tell us everything about how the heck you managed to get up on that platform!"
My mind was still on alcohol-induced headaches and back-garden romances. I couldn't find a single, plausible lie to put forward. Maybe I should just tell them the truth... but no! I couldn't. Out of my mad visit to a financier's office some weeks ago had arisen a real chance for me to forge myself a life of independence. I couldn't risk that by telling Eve. I loved her dearly, but she had the loosest mouth this side of the Thames.
Bloody hell! What can I do?
"Excuse me?"
We all turned to look. My aunt was standing a few steps below us, an expression on her face that could have been used to pickle cucumbers.
"Will your friends stay and join us for breakfast?" she asked me, letting her cool gaze sweep over the group of girls around me. "They didn't say they were coming beforehand, but I'm sure there will be enough boiled potatoes for three more people."
For the first time in my life, I would have liked to kiss my aunt.
"Oh no, Mrs Brank," Patsy said hurriedly. "Don't exert yourself on our account. I, um... had a very filling dinner yesterday. And we were just leaving, weren't we, girls?"
"Oh yes," Eve nodded quickly. "We were. Most certainly."
"What?" Flora, who was a bit slower on the uptake, asked. "But I thought we... ouch!" She winced, as Patsy stepped on her foot. "Yes, of course we were. Just leaving, right now."
"Come along, girls." Like a general gathering her troops, Patsy waved the other two to her flanks, just in case any boiled potatoes or disgusting bowls of gruel would suddenly launch an attack. "We've got places to be. And as for you—" At the bottom of the stairs, she turned a final time and gave me a significant look. "We'll have a talk with you later."
Oh dear. It didn't seem as though I was off the hook. But at least I would have time to think up a convincing cover-story. With relief, and with thankfulness for the fact that I and the girls were fast friends again, I watched Patsy and the others depart.
"Well?" my aunt snapped. "What are you standing around gawking like that? Come down to breakfast, or do you expect the rest of us to wait for you?"
"No, Aunt, I do not expect that."
"Then come down! The potatoes are already getting cold!"
If they had been served with Leadfield's usual speed and alacrity, they had probably been cold long before they reached the table. Yet I didn't say anything, simply followed my aunt down and to the breakfast table.
Everybody was already seated, apart from Uncle Bufford, of course. The head of the table, where he was supposed to sit, remained conspicuously empty, as always. My aunt could have sat there, but she preferred not to, as a demonstration that my uncle was grossly far behind in the performance of his social duties. Sometimes I wondered whether before we had come to his house, he had already had the habit of dining up in his study, or if that habit had developed to avoid an overdose of female company.
"Sit," my aunt told me, as if I were a misbehaving puppy – which, when I came to think about it, probably was exactly how she thought of me. I took my place at the table directly opposite Ella. She didn't meet my eyes.
Leadfield started limping around the table, doling out potatoes as he went. The potatoes turned out to be still lukewarm, not cold as predicted. Yet this overwhelming culinary advantage didn't much increase my motivation to dig in. It seemed that along with the headache, the inability to eat potatoes was another symptom excessive alcohol consumption.
Maybe it wasn't just restricted to potatoes, either. I didn't feel as if I could have eaten much, even had there been a roasted pheasant in front of me. Any pheasant in the room would have been squashed anyway, by the elephant in the room that was Ella's and Edmund's secret plan. She didn't know that I knew she was going to flee, and I didn't know when she was going to flee. I only knew something had to be done about it.
Again, I tried to catch her eye. She kept her gaze firmly fixed on her plate of potatoes as though they were the most fascinating work of art she had ever seen. I knew for a fact they were not. She liked going to the museum or to art galleries, and not to look at potatoes.
I hated seeing her like this, anxious and uncertain. I wanted her to be carefree and happy. I wanted him out of her life. And yet... a tiny part of me suspected that having him out of her life would not exactly contribute to her happiness. She cared for him, and he for her, probably. It was the one thing that had prevented me from going to him and threatening him with exposure, or just disclosing his conduct to his parents. They had to be together to be happy. Yet I couldn't just let them run off together. I knew Ella, knew the value she placed on honour and propriety. The scandal would follow her everywhere, it would ruin her life.
Still, the alternative... her marrying that nincompoop Sir Philip...
I shuddered from head to toe. She would drown in flower bouquets and be forced to look at that silly grin and over-large nose for the rest of her life. What a hideous prospect.
"It is a beautiful day, today, girls," my aunt initiated the conversation with a glance out of the window, her voice cheerful, which probably meant that she had momentarily both forgotten me and the plate of potatoes in front of her. "The sun is shining for a change. Do you have any special plans?"
"Maria and I planned to go out for a picnic with the Hendersons," Anne piped up. She shot a sidways glance at Gertrude. "Want to come? Young Master Charles Henderson will be there, and I'm sure he would be enchanted to meet you."
She giggled, and not in a nice way. I knew it, because I prided myself on having brought the art of nasty giggling to perfection.
"No, thank you," Gertrude replied quietly, not looking up from her plate. "He is five years younger than me, if I am correct. And I would much prefer to stay at home and work some more on my needlework."
"I'd like to come," Lisbeth put in, her eyes shining eagerly.
Anne chose to overhear that.
"And the rest of you?" My aunt's eyes went from the window through which sunshine streamed into the room to me. Her expression soured. "What do you plan to do, Lillian?"
My hand, in the act of piercing a piece of potato with my fork, froze in mid-air.
Hell's whiskers!
What did I plan to do? Up until a second ago, I had planned absolutely nothing. But in the back of my mind, I knew what I had to do, whether I planned it or not. It was a weekday. A workday. If I wanted to keep my position as Mr Ambrose's private secretary, I would have to go to work. I would have to face him, after everything that happened last night.
But... Nothing happened last night, right? It was all just my imagination. The more... intimate parts, anyway. Not real. Imagination. Only imagination.
Ha! Really?
"Lilly?" For the first time this morning, my aunt didn't sound like a shark out for blood when talking to me. "Lilly, are you all right? You look pale."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ella quickly glance up from her meal. She looked down again so fast that I couldn't read anything in her expression except her concern – concern for me.
She thinks I'm going back to the man who has me in his hold, it shot through my head. And the fact is: I am.
I shook my head. No! Mr Ambrose didn't have me in his hold. Not in any sense, and certainly not a romantic one! I had chosen to work for him of my own free will. I could quit any time I wished to. I could quit today. I could not leave the house and stay at home and... and... and never find out if last night had really only been a dream.
Angrily, I speared the potato and shoved it into my mouth.
"I'm fine," I lied, gruffly. "Perfectly fine. I think I'll take a walk in the park. As you said, it's fine weather. There aught be hiding a lot of potential suitors in the bushes, waiting to pounce on the first likely girl to come along."
"Very good, girl, very good indeed. But suitors don't hide in bushes. They ride carriages or horses. The good ones, anyway."
"I would never have guessed. What would I do without your wise advice, Aunt."
"You would be destitute, of course, child. Don't ask such silly questions."
"Yes, Aunt."
I was getting quite accomplished at playing obedience. However had that come about?
Oh yes. My practice with the tyrant king of London finance.
I bit down on my potato a bit too hard. Ruddy hell! Could nothing banish that man from my thoughts?
"W-will Sir Philip be calling today?"
The hesitant voice was Ella's. And it answered my question. Yes, something could banish Mr Ambrose from my mind, if only temporarily: my concern for my little sister.
"I do not think so," my aunt sighed.
Good.
"But," she added, brightening, "We'll all see him at the ball tonight, of course."
Oh. Bad. Very bad.
"Ball?" What little colour there was in Ella's face disappeared.
"Oh yes. Didn't I mention it? Another invitation arrived a few days ago. We are all to go to another ball at Lady Metcalf's, and Sir Philip has kindly agreed to accompany us." She winked at Ella in so suggestive a way that a blind possum couldn't have failed to notice the message.
Ella went from white to translucent.
"How... nice of him."
I stabbed my fork into the next potato, imagining it to be Sir Philip's head.
"We are all invited?" I asked. "Me too?"
My aunt looked at me in surprise. "Yes, of course, but... do you want to come? I thought I would have to drag you there as usual."
"Trust me, madam," I told her, and bit down on my potato, severing it in the middle. "I want to come."
*~*~**~*~*
The mist sparkled in the early morning sunlight in all the streets of London. It parted before me as the ocean before the bough of a battleship as I marched towards Leadenhall Street. In my mind I was going over things I could do to Sir Philip Wilkins if he didn't leave my little sister alone. Boiling alive was quite high up on the list.
This ball might be my last chance. Things were coming to a head, I could feel it! Considering all Wilkins had said to me the last time we had met, it wouldn't surprise me if he intended to propose to Ella tonight. That could never happen, I knew. She would have the courage to refuse him.
Sweet, mad, little creature! She had the courage to offer to face down a drunken rake for my sake, but not the courage to stand up for the wishes of her own heart. If only Wilkins had fallen in love with me instead! He would be in Inverness by now, on his way to charter a ship to the polar regions, in the hope of getting as far away from my wrath as possible.
I thought I would never be able to stop fretting about Ella. Yet the closer I drew to Leadenhall Street, the more thoughts of her and Wilkins were replaced by thoughts of another. Someone beside whom they seemed to pale into insignificance. Someone made of granite, iron and money. Soon I could do nothing but obsess over one question:
What the dickens am I supposed to say to him? How should I react to him after what has happened?
But no, I reminded myself. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. Especially nothing that involved lips touching. It had all just been in my imagination. So I wouldn't need to say anything.
But...
What if he said something?
What if he started to talk about last night and it turned out that all I remembered hadn't been some insane, alcohol-induced dream, but in fact reality?
The world about me seemed to shiver and shimmer like a mirage. All of a sudden, I felt as if reality were a dream and dreams reality. What if... just hypothetically speaking of course... Mr Ambrose really did... want me in some way? What would I do if he indicated his intentions?
I really did not know. I had no idea what I would do.
And that was disturbing.
In the past I had always known what to do with a man who had declared his intentions and wanted to make me his. In most cases, a lecture on suffragism or a good, long dance during which I used his feet for target practice with my heels was sufficient to send the gentleman running. In tougher cases, a few good whacks with the parasol usually solved the problem. For some reason, though, I didn't think this would work as well on Mr Ambrose. Nor, I discovered to my horror, would I be likely to try.
What was wrong with me?
I didn't... it wasn't possible that I... no! I could never feel anything like that. Never, ever. Not for any man, especially not this one.
And besides, I didn't have time for anything like that. I was completely focused on forging an independent life for myself. Yes, I was totally concentrated and not in the least bit distracted.
Suddenly, the mist parted, and in front of me loomed the giant facade of Empire House.
Hell's Whiskers! How did I get here?
Confused, I looked around and saw the familiar houses of Leadenhall Street. Had I walked all this way without noticing?
But I was much too focused for that, surely.
Ha, ha, ha. You are?
Quickly, I made my way up to the front door and past sallow-face in the entry-hall. He still gave me suspicious looks whenever I passed by and I didn't like to subject myself to his scrutiny for too long, particularly, when I was not at my best, performance-wise.
I climbed up the stairs.
They were very long stairs. I had noticed that already the first time I had climbed up to the higher realms of Empire house, but it impressed itself more particularly on my mind today. There were a lot of steps. And with every step, the question repeated itself?
What is he going to say?
What is he going to say?
What the bloody hell is he going to say?
By the time I had reached the upper landing, my head was ringing with the question. I hardly mumbled a "Good Morning" at Mr Stone in passing before I sneaked into my office and fled behind my desk. I wouldn't go to him. If he was going to say anything, he would have to come to me. And I wanted some solid protection between us when, or rather if, he did.
I didn't have to wait long.
After only a few moments, I heard movement on the other side of the wall and tensed. My eyes snapped to the door that separated my office from that of Mr Ambrose.
I heard footsteps approach it from beyond. Sharp, hard footsteps. Footsteps I was by now very familiar with.
Although I didn't want it to, although I screamed at it to behave normally, screamed that there was nothing to be excited about, the beat of my heart picked up. The footsteps came closer and closer, finally stopping right in front of the separating door.
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Finally! The time has arrived for some Lilly & Ambrose action, my dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen! :)
And it's just the right time for this book to become really interesting, because a big event is on the horizon: the WATTYS ARE APPROACHING! Huzzah! As most of you shall probably have already heard, Storm & Silence will be taking part in this big contest, and Lilly & Mr Rikkard Ambrose shall need everyone's help to emerge triumphant from the contest! Please lend me your ears, my dear readers! Here are the instructions on how to vote for the story:
- The entire voting process will happen on Twitter.com. If you haven't an account at Twitter yet , you can get one right here:
https://twitter.com/signup
And if you already happen to have an account, simply ignore this paragraph ;-)
- I shall post a tweet in the near future (some time before of The twenty-fourth of August, to be precise) on my twitter profile at https://twitter.com/TheSirRob which will include all the following information: the title of the story ("Storm and Silence"), a link leading straight to the story on Wattpad, and the Twitter tag #MyWattysChoice. It is this tweet which you will have to retweet in order to vote for Lilly and Mr Ambrose in the competition. Please follow me on twitter, so you will not miss any announcements regarding the big event! :)
- Tweets as well as retweets count as votes. So when the voting period begins, please tweet & retweet like the devil, my dear readers!
I ask all of you most humbly to support my book during the wattys. I am trying to get it published, and maybe even bring Mr Ambrose and Lilly onto the big screen one day in the future, and would have much better chances, I'm quite sure, if it got the recognition of winning the wattys 2015. I hope I can count on all of you to support me in my dreams! :-)
Thanks so much! **humble bow**
Yours Truly
Sir Rob