'Captain Carter?' I blinked up at the tall man with the mane of mahogany hair and perky little speck of a beard on his strong, otherwise clean-shaven chin. 'Is that really you?'
'In the flesh.' He swept me a bow just as snappy as the one I remembered from our first meeting. 'And blood and bones and earwax and other disgusting things I'd rather not mention, in fact.'
'I see you haven't become much more sensible since our last encounter,' I commented, a corner of my mouth involuntary twitching.
'And you not much more ladylike. Isn't it wonderful how old friends never seem to change?'
'Old friends? We only met once before.'
'And you didn't try to strangle me, Miss Linton. That makes you an old friend to me.'
The corner of my mouth twitched again. Captain James Carter was one of the few men whose company I could tolerate – maybe because most of the time, he didn't behave like a man, but like a naughty poltergeist trapped in the body of a British Army Captain.
'I heard this ball was being given as a sort of welcome home to a Miss Linton.' He cocked his head. 'Is that you? Or one of your sisters?'
'Me, actually.'
'Ah! So you've been on holiday! Tell all. Which sunny shore has been graced by the radiance of your presence, and your exquisite feminine essence?'
'Oh, shut up!' I mumbled, my ears glowing.
'I can't help it.' Theatrically, he placed a hand on his chest. 'In my chest, there beats a poet's heart! And my food is digested by a poet's stomach, and my drinking is dealt with by a poet's liver. So, where have you been?'
'France.'
What?! Why the heck did you just tell him the truth?
'La France,' he sighed. 'Did they try to feed you frogs and snails?'
'No. They shot at me.'
'The famed hospitality of the French!' He smiled at me, obviously not taking me seriously. Thank God! 'So, you're back now. Are you here with your aunt and sisters?'
'Yes. They're all here, dancing somewhere. And you? Did you come alone or–' I froze. A possibility had just occurred to me. 'Blimey! You didn't come here with your friend, Sir Philip, did you?'
'With Flip? No. Why?'
'Why? You ask why? Did you perhaps forget that he happened to fall madly in love with my sister Ella? A love which she, I might add, did not return in the least?'
He waved my concerns away. 'Ah, yes, but I told you, Flip falls madly in love with another woman every week. That's his thing, being madly in love. That, and flowers.'
'I remember,' I said in a dull voice, shuddering at the memory of the mountains of sunflowers, roses and carnations under which Sir Philip Wilkins had attempted to bury my little sister. He was a nice enough fellow, really, and quite harmless, but not the kind of person you wanted to fall in love with you or your little sister.
'I swear,' Captain Carter proclaimed, placing one hand on his poet's heart again, 'that Flip is not with me here tonight. And besides, he is currently madly in love with a Miss Eugenia Ficklestone from western Derbyshire. He is probably bombarding her with bouquets as we speak. So you see, your sister is perfectly safe.'
'Thank the Lord!' I hugged the window-curtain to me in relief. 'Not that I've got anything against your friend, mind, but...'
'You can't think of marriage and him in the same sentence without wanting to puke. I quite understand. I wouldn't like to marry him either.'
My elbow found his ribs and dug in. 'You! Why do you have to make a joke of everything?'
'Because life's much more fun that way,' he gasped, clutching his midriff. 'You have admirably sharp elbows, Miss Linton! Have you ever thought of a life as a professional tavern brawler?'
I harrumphed. 'You find the most curious things about women worthy of admiration!'
He shrugged. 'Any woman can have a pretty face. But with sharp elbows, you have to know how to use them. That takes talent. You are a dangerous young lady.'
'Lillian!' I suddenly heard a sharp voice from beyond the curtain. 'Lillian, where are you?'
'Speaking of dangerous women,' I whispered. 'Here's one coming. Be warned! Hold on to your bachelordom with both hands!'oldH
'What?' He blinked at me in surprise, but before I could elaborate, the curtain was ripped aside and there stood my aunt, thunder and death written all over her face.
'Lillian Linton! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you! There are several young men who want to ask you to dance, and–'
It was only then that she spotted Captain Carter. Captain Carter, who, I now realized, had been standing in a secluded spot behind curtains, rather close to my sweet little self. My aunt took in all six feet of his manliness, resplendent in his deep red dress uniform. The scowl was shoved off her face, and a smile sprang in its place.
'Captain Carter! How nice to see you! I didn't know Mrs Fields was going to invite you to this little festivity of ours!'
'It is my pleasure to see you again, Madam.' James Carter bowed, deeply. He could be perfectly well-mannered when he wanted to. He just didn't want to very often. 'I was just having a nice chat with your lovely niece.' He winked. 'You understand?'
My elbow found its ribs again, but this time, the Captain didn't even wince. He continued to smile brightly at my aunt, who returned the radiant expression, golden coins twinkling in her eyes.
'Of course I do! So you two know each other quite well, do you?'
'Sometimes,' he sighed, 'it feels as if I have known her all my life!'
My elbow lashed out again. 'We met for the first time no more than two weeks ago!' I growled under my breath.
'Really? It seems like an eternity to me.'
I was just about to shoot something back when suddenly, I heard the music of the dance around us change. Where before the stately tones of a quadrille had drilled their way into my ears, now, a frisky tune swept over the guests. It became faster and faster, and louder, too. All people over thirty hurriedly left the dance floor. The rest looked at each other with excited grins.
'Good gracious!' my aunt exclaimed. 'What is that they are playing?'
'A gallop,' Captain Carter informed her. 'I hear it's all the rage in Europe.'
'Well, we are not Europe! Isn't that what the Channel is for?'
Ignoring her, the Captain turned towards me and extended an arm. 'Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Linton?'
I hesitated. Dancing with Captain Carter was considerably less horrific than dancing with other people. Still, my feet hadn't yet stopped aching, and maybe I should refuse as a matter of principle. I didn't approve of the idea of having a man steer me across the dancefloor.
'Well, I...'
'What?' my aunt interrupted. 'Dance to this frantic hick-hack? Surely, you are not serious, Captain Carter? My niece jumping about in an unseemly fashion? I forbid it! Do you hear me, Lillian? I forbid it!'
I heard her loud and clear. My hand shot forward and grabbed the surprised Captain Carter by the arm. My eyes flashed.
'Come along, Captain! You want to dance a gallop? Let us dance a gallop!'
'But Miss Linton, your aunt said–'
He didn't get another word out. In a flash, I had dragged him onto the dance floor and held him in a firm grip. He suddenly didn't look as if he wanted to escape anymore.
'So... how do you dance this?' I demanded.
His eyes widened. 'You don't know?'
'Of course not!'
'Then... blast! What are we going to do?'
'You'll just have to show me on the fly.'
'And pray to God we don't crash into any of the other couples! Blimey... all right. Take your skirt in one hand and pull it up.'
'I get to pull my skirt up?' Grinning like a loon, I obeyed. 'Good God, my aunt will be furious!'
'Not that far! You don't want to show your unmentionables to the entire ballroom!'
'How do you know I don't?'
'Well, maybe you do, but you shouldn't! Let your skirt down again, or I'll have to make you!'
I bowed my head in my best pseudo-ladylike submission. 'Like that?'
'Yes. Admirable.'
'Now, I'll put my arm around your waist, and take your hand with the other...'
'Seems like any other dance to me. What are the steps?'
'There are no steps. We don't step, we jump.'
The grin on my face widened. 'Now that's not like any other dance. How high?'
'As high as you want.' Seeing the gleam in my eyes, he added, hurriedly: 'Be gentle with me! I don't want to break a leg.'
'Can I start? Can I start? Please, please?'
'Wait for the music, will you? There we go. One, two, three, four... one, two, three, four... Now!'
The next few minutes passed in an ecstasy of stomping feet and flying skirts. I hardly felt my aching feet or my too-tight corset. Not once did I stamp on Captain Carter's feet. True, he was a man, but a sort of special case. There was no real reason to break his toes – not while I was having so much fun.
After the first gallop, the musicians wanted to start on a quadrille again – but they were interrupted by the storm of mixed protest and applause from their audience.
'Bravo!' A girl from the crowd shouted. 'Da capo!'
'Don't you dare play that stupid, sluggish muck!' I shouted. 'Or I'll come over there and ram your flute down your throat!'
Perhaps not so complimentary or so diplomatic, but certainly effective. The musicians struck up another gallop, and after that, another. Only when my feet would no longer support me did I allow Captain Carter to escort me to a chair in the corner. For the first time in my life, I didn't mind a man holding my arm to support me. He didn't seem to mind my having to support him right back, either. We were both a bit unsteady.
'My aunt was right!' I sank down into a chair, panting. 'This isn't dancing! It's wild jumping about!'
For a moment, Captain Cater looked concerned.
A broad grin spread over my face. 'Very wild jumping about. I must say, I rather enjoyed it.'
His answering grin was brilliant. 'So, may I expect that you will do some more jumping about with me later tonight, Miss Linton?'
'With you, I'd even make cartwheels and jump about on one leg!'
'Ha! I doubt ball room dances will develop so far as to include either of those. Though it is a pity.' His eyes, glinting with mirth, fastened on a particularly corpulent duchess dancing not far away. 'Cartwheels... that would certainly add considerable entertainment value to the average ball. It might be sufficient to draw away audiences from the music hall.'
'We should do this again – not just tonight, but when the next ball comes along! I never before considered the possibility of actually having fun at a ball. I feel like a girl dying of thirst in the middle of the Sahara, in front of whom suddenly a hand appears with a glass of water and a voice says "Want a sip, dear?"'
Captain Carter grinned, but then he winced as if he had remembered something, and shook his head.
'I'm afraid I can't be your glass of water in the desert, Miss Linton.'
'Oh.' My face fell. I thought he had enjoyed our galloping just as much as I had, but maybe I had been mistaken.
He seemed to read my thoughts on my face. 'It's not that I don't want to. I'd like nothing better. But, you see, I'm leaving London in a few days. And I'm not likely to return for some time.'
'Really? Leaving? Why?'
He hesitated
'Is it a secret?' I teased.
'Well, yes, it is actually.'
'My lips are sealed. Well, actually they aren't, because I hate the taste of sealing wax, but you can tell me anyway.'
'Blast you!' He fought the grin, but it spread over his face anyway. 'I shouldn't even be thinking about telling you this! Why the heck am I?'
I waved my fan like I thought a proper lady would. 'Because I'm so irresistible?'
He studied my face for a moment. 'That must be it.'
'So, why are you going?'
'The fate of a soldier, I'm afraid. We're always going, going, going. Usually away from places where there are balls and pretty young ladies, and towards places where there are wars and people trying to stab you in the kidneys.'
'Is that so? And are your kidneys still intact?'
'Luckily, yes. But I don't know whether they still will be after this little adventure.' His face became uncommonly serious. 'We've had reports of a series of vicious attacks on traders in one of the eastern protectorates. There's pressure on the Admiralty and the Commander-in-Chief to get quick results. The navy has already dispatched several vessels, and if they can't root the bandits out from the sea, we'll probably be sent in.'
My eyes gleamed. 'That sounds dangerous!'
He looked at me, one corner of his mouth twitching. 'And that just makes you want to come along, doesn't it?'
'Why on earth not?' I demanded.
'Didn't you ever think about saying "Oh, that sounds terribly dangerous!" while clutching my arm in fear staring deeply into my eyes, besieging me to be careful and return to you in one piece?'
In answer to that, I stomped on his foot. Seeing as I had been restrained during the dance, I was entitled to give him at least one bruise.
'Ouch!' he laughed. 'You're no proper young lady, you little beast!'
'If I were a proper young lady I wouldn't have danced the gallop with you,' I pointed out.
'True, true. Then, don't be proper, please.'
'That won't be a problem.' I rose to my feet and extended my hand to him. 'Since you'll be leaving soon, we have no time to waste. Would you do me the honour of dancing another gallop with me, Captain?'
'I'm the one who is supposed to ask you!'
I grinned. 'Not a proper young lady, remember?'
He grinned back. 'Yes! I'd be delighted to dance with you.'
The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of flying skirts and disapproving glares from my aunt. And the best thing was: she couldn't even say anything! She had told me to spend my evening dancing and smiling, and there I was, dancing and smiling. The only thing was – I wasn't pretending.
When the evening finally came to an end, and people were rushing through the room, trying to say their goodbyes to everybody, I stayed beside the Captain for a moment longer.
'When will you be leaving for your not-so-secret secret mission?'
He winced. 'Blast! I should never have told you!'
'Out with it! Or do you want an elbow in the ribs, or a smashed foot?'
'Please, gentle lady, spare me! I'll probably be leaving the day after tomorrow, if the ship is ready by then.'
Instead of trampling on his foot, I gave his hand a squeeze.
'I'll miss you,' I told him, and found to my surprise that I actually meant it. My arms reflexively crossed in front of my chest. 'You... well, you're one of the few men I don't actually despise.'
He swept a dramatic bow. 'Why, thank you! You really know how to compliment a gentleman, Miss Linton. May I say that I don't actually despise you, either?'
'You may.'
Bending still a little further forward, he took hold of my hand, and before I could rip it from his grasp, had pressed a kiss on the back of it.
'Goodbye, Miss Linton. Or should I say au revoir?'
My eyes narrowed. 'I prefer pip-pip, or cheerio.'
'Pip-pip, it is, then, Miss Linton.'
He turned and walked away. And I, for some reason, stood there looking after him long after the crowd had swallowed him, remembering the feel of his arms around me.
*~*~**~*~*
By Monday morning, I was no longer thinking about Captain Carter's arms – or his feet or nose, for that matter. In fact, any thought of any man existing on this earth had been expunged from my brain, excepting that one representative of the species homo masculus masculus lentus that I would have to confront in no more than an hour.
It won't be long until you will be begging to be sacked, and I'll be rid of you.
His words echoed in my mind while I got up and dressed. They still echoed when I was going downstairs for breakfast. They hadn't faded by the time I was getting up from the breakfast table.
'Where are you going?' my aunt demanded, sharply.
'Into the park,' I lied. 'For a rendezvous.'
Her face brightened. 'With that nice young man, Captain Carter?'
Somehow, she had been able to compartmentalize the events of last night in a way that allowed her to be furious with me because I had displayed such an atrocious lack of ladylike behaviour and spent the evening dancing frivolous dances, while she was simultaneously ecstatic about Captain Carter, although he had been the one to ask me to dance said dances. It was really amazing what levels of unjust nastiness an ambitious aunt could work herself up to if she put her mind to it.
'Yes,' I lied. Lying was such a useful skill.
'Excellent!' Her eyes narrowed in suspicion for a moment. 'There won't be any dancing, will there?'
'In the park? No, I don't think so.'
There! That one had even been true.
'Good. You may go. And see that you don't return before two p.m. I don't want to see you near the house before then!'
'Don't worry,' I told her another very true fact. 'I think I'll be pretty busy all day.'
When nobody was looking, I slipped out the back door into the garden and snuck into the shed. There, my new set of clothes was already waiting for me. During the last few weeks, I had been using my uncle's old Sunday best, which he hadn't used for years, but that had gone down with the Channel ferry. My new attire consisted of pretty much the same ghastly mixture of cheap trousers and tailcoat, only that these weren't three sizes too large for me.
A few minutes later, I stepped out into the street, successfully transformed from Miss Lilly Linton, suffragette and part-time trampler of men's feet, into Mr Victor Linton, secretary to Mr Rikkard Ambrose of 322 Leadenhall Street, London. The new me gave the passing cabs a regretful glance – but I had just informed my uncle I didn't want an allowance any more, and it was still about a week until I would receive my first pay cheque. So this wasn't the time for luxuries. Straightening my shoulders, I started marching towards my goal, my feet already aching.
Not as much as they will be once he is through with you.
The thought came out of nowhere, like an adder in the grass. Sneaky! Blast, I wasn't going to surrender to him before I had even started.
It won't be long until you will be begging to be sacked – he said that. He meant it. You know he always does.
Yes, blast him! But so did I! I wasn't going to give up! Not ever!
What do you think he's going to do?
My foot caught on something, and I almost stumbled. Bloody hell! I should be watching where I was going!
Or even better: you should be thinking about whether to go at all!
Oh, shut up!
When turned the corner into Leadenhall Street, I didn't waste a glance on the other buildings, not even on East India House, the headquarters of Mr Ambrose's main business rival and personal arch-enemy. My eyes were drawn to it, the largest building on the street, the largest building anywhere in London as far as I knew, with the possible exception of Buckingham Palace.
Empire House rose high, high into the air above the other buildings. Its size was not in breadth, but in climbing far above the other buildings, towards the sky. When first I saw the building, I couldn't think why. Now I felt sure I knew: It was cheaper to build high on a smaller piece of ground. Plus, I had to admit, it looked much more intimidating. And Mr Ambrose was as much into intimidation as he was into keeping his purse tightly closed.
Cautiously, I approached the portico. I half-expected him to jump out at me from behind one of the two gigantic support columns.
Don't be silly! Get a move on, Lilly!
Crossing the street, I climbed up the steps to the half-open door and entered the entrance hall. Immediately, I was surrounded by cool shadows and the patter of hundreds of busy little feet, coming from busy little clerks hurrying through the hall like ants through an anthill. The narrow windows let in only a few rays of sunlight, and the stone walls were completely bare of decoration.
I gave a happy sigh.
Home.
Except of course for the little fact that this was a huge stone monument to mammon, not a home. A monument of which not a single brick belonged to me. And in its bowls waited not a welcoming committee but a stone-faced madman who wanted to devour me for breakfast and spit me out again.
Don't be melodramatic, Lilly! At least not now! You can do that on your own time!
Fighting an urge to linger, I advanced towards the sallow-faced receptionist behind the desk at the back of the hall, and nodded a greeting.
Sallow-face nodded back. 'You may go up, Mr Linton. Mr Ambrose is expecting you.'
Oh, he is, is he?
I hardly noticed my aching feet while climbing up the stairs. My brain was too focused on wild, chaotic fears to have room for pain.
Blast, blast, blast! He's going to try to get rid of you again!
My feet touched the third landing. I hurried on without pausing.
Yes, he is. But what can he do? Make you carry more files than before?
Fourth landing... fifth... Outside, the bell of St Paul's cathedral started to strike the hour.
'What can he do?' Did you really have to ask yourself that question?
Now I bloody couldn't stop imagining!
Sixth landing... just one more... seventh! Panting, I stumbled into the narrow hallway with doors leading off to either side that was the gateway to Mr Ambrose's inner sanctum. At the end of the hallway, Mr Stone, an astonishingly nice and unassuming man for someone working so close with Mr Ambrose, sat as his desk, guarding the way in like a timid Cerberus.
And behind Mr Stone... a door.
The door.
I started forward. The only sensible thing to do. But why the heck was I moving on tiptoes?
'Hello, Mr Stone.'
And now why are you whispering?
He smiled up at me. 'Welcome back, Mr Linton.'
I through another glance at the door. 'How is he?'
Mr Stone cleared his throat. 'Um... not in a particularly good mood, I'm afraid. Here's his correspondence for the day. But if I were you, I'd avoid him until he has relaxed a bit.'
Mr Ambrose? Relax? Do you want me to wait a million years, or just ten-thousand?
'Well, thanks for the advice,' I told him. 'I'll just go into my own office, then, and–'
'Mr Linton!' The cold voice from inside the head office cut through mine like a razor through rice paper. It sent a shiver down my back and made Mr Stone sit up straight in his chair. Then it came again. 'I know you're out there, Mr Linton. Come in here! We have work to do!'
Oh, bloody hell...!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies & Gentlemen,
**big drumroll... Only TWO DAYS left to the end of the extended voting period of the "Story of the Year Award 2015" and the conclusion of the competition. In case you want to take this last chance to support "Storm and Silence", the first book in this fantastically Victorian series, then this is your VERY LAST CHANCE to cast your vote! :) You will find a clickable link leading straight to the voting page in my bio on my wattpad profile!
Oh, and incidentally, if you've forgotten: the instant we're officially announced as the winner, I shall be posting a SPECIAL EXTRA INSTALLMENT of "In the Eye of the Storm"! :)
Last but not least, I'd like to mention that the files for the paperback version of "Storm and Silence" have now been sent to Amazon.com and are currently being processed and reviewed for publication. So this means that quite soon, the paperback version of the book will be available for preorder via Amazon! Follow me on Twitter / Facebook (You'll find me on both social media platforms under my username @TheSirRob) to stay up-to-date with the latest developments! :)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
GLOSSARY:
Unmentionables: A Victorian Expression for a certain part of the body. Can you guess which...? No, you don't even have to let your dirty little minds go so far. It's simply an expression for 'legs'. ;-)
Music hall: A popular Victorian entertainment form. A mixture of comedy, music and acrobatic acts.
Protectorate: One step up from a colony. A protectorate is a foreign country that subordinates itself to a certain extent to a great power. Sometimes this might involve having to pay tribute, or relinquishing control over foreign affairs.
Homo masculus masculus lentus: I shall leave it to you and your favourite Latin dictionary to figure that one out by yourselves ;-) Have fun!