I was standing at the window overlooking the courtyard. A lady's footsteps approached, yet I pretended not to pay attention. Then a gentle feminine cough sounded from behind me. I struggled valiantly to morph my face into a serene, disinterested expression and turned around. Lady Caroline was beaming at me in a way that would probably have melted most men like butter in the sun. But for some reason it did not work quite so well on Mr Victor Linton. Strange. Can you imagine why?
She took a sensuous step closer, taking care to waggle her hips. I nearly burst out laughing.
'Mr Linton?'
'Yes, Lady Caroline?'
'I was just wondering...I heard...'
She paused and gave a shy giggle that was probably supposed to demonstrate how demure and innocent she was. Personally, I was tempted to ask if she had the laughing sickness, and how long it would be before she entered the third, terminal, stage – but on the whole, that would probably not have been very gentlemanly.
'You were wondering?' I prompted.
'A few of my friends and I were discussing London society and its great men. And one of them said something that I...no, I can't really believe it. It sounds too improbable.'
'What?'
'She said that you...that you are the private secretary of the Rikkard Ambrose?'
You could have filled a cathedral with the reverent awe in her voice.
'True.'
'What? You are? You really, really are?' She made big eyes and batted her eyelashes at me. I was tempted to bat her over the head with a bat in return, but I didn't have one handy. Darn! Where's a heavy wooden club when you need one?
'Oh, Mr Linton! Working for such an important man, that must be so terribly exciting!'
You have no idea.
'Oh, not so very exciting.' I waved a dismissive hand. 'Mostly it's boring paperwork.'
She batted her eyelashes again and swayed a few steps closer, offering me a good view of her cleavage. I had seen far more interesting sights in my life. 'Boring paperwork? Now, Mr Linton...I'm sure that's not true.'
No, it isn't. Would you like to know about the bandit hunts, secret infiltrations, deadly fights and the half-naked fun times in the jungle?
However, being a well-mannered pretend gentleman, I didn't say that aloud. I really was getting the hang of this manners thing.
'Of course, there are interesting moments,' I admitted instead, sighing with nostalgia.
'Such as?' she enquired, doing some more eyelash-batting.
'Well, there was the day we were checking the accounts and discovered a miscalculation of three shillings seven pence for the month of June. Mr Ambrose was so terribly excited about the additional revenue. It was one of the best days of the year.'
She blinked at me. I could almost see the question flicker in her mind: Is this fellow pulling my delectably formed leg?
It took her only a moment to decide. Of course I couldn't be pulling her leg. I was a man – nothing but helpless putty in her seductive hands. Just in case, though, she smiled at me broadly and once again pulled down her neckline.
If she does that again, things might get embarrassing for all concerned...
'Surely, there must be more to Mr Ambrose than accounting. He is such an intriguing man. I would be most grateful if you could tell me more...'
Just at that moment, far below, a man stepped out into the courtyard below. He was followed by another, and another. The guests were setting out to hunt. More and more of them emerged from the house until, finally, he came. Mr Rikkard Ambrose stepped out into the courtyard, as dark and menacing upon the snow as a raven among a flock of sparrows.
'Yes,' I murmured, unable to help myself. 'He certainly is intriguing.'
Lady Caroline sidled closer, gazing down at him. Below, Mr Ambrose pulled his rifle from his back, checked it in one swift, sharp move and grabbed the nearest horse by the reins, swinging himself onto the animal's back.
'Tell me, Mr Linton,' Lady Caroline purred, letting her fingers slide down my arm in a way that made me want to douse the appendage in vinegar, 'what is Mr Ambrose like? What is his favourite food? What are his tastes in art and music? What kind of woman do you think he would prefer to have at his side? If you give me your insights, I can prove very...generous.'
Ah, so this was her game, was it? Inwardly, I smiled. I'd say 'two can play that game' – but that wouldn't be entirely correct. Only one could play this game: me. Because I was the only one who knew all the rules.
Let's have a little fun...
And let's hope Mr Ambrose never finds out about it.
'Oh, well, Lady Caroline, if you ask so nicely...' I did my best to make my voice sound breathy and seduced. It wasn't easy. 'Mr Ambrose's favourite food...'
'Yes?'
'Mr Ambrose's favourite food are sheep's trotters.'
'What?'
'Sheep's trotters.' I made walking movements in the air with my fingers. 'You know, boiled sheep's feet? I hear they are sold by street vendors in London on every corner.'
'Boiled...sheep's feet?'
'Oh yes.' I smiled at her brightly. 'He eats at least a dozen a day. Can't have enough of them.'
'Ng.'
'What's wrong, Lady Caroline? Don't you feel well?'
'No, no. I'm perfectly all right.'
'I'm glad to hear that.'
'So...what about his literary tastes?' She gifted me with another charming, seductive smile, though it looked a little more forced this time. Or should I say sheepish? 'What books does he enjoy?'
'Hm...' I thought for a moment. To be honest, I had never seen Mr Ambrose with a book other than his account and date book. But whoever said I was planning to be honest? 'If I remember correctly, he is a great admirer of the The Ripley Scrolls.'
Lady Caroline's perfectly arched eyebrows drew together in a ladylike frown. 'The...Ripley Scrolls?'
'Oh yes, they are very dear to his heart.'
I wondered how long it would take her to find out that The Ripley Scrolls were an obscure medieval manuscript describing how to turn lead into gold. Probably very, very long.
'I see. Thank you, Mr Linton. Anything else?'
'Well, he has always been a big admirer of the Rohonc Codex.'
She smiled, trying to pretend as if she had the slightest idea what I was talking about. 'Really? I've always been interested in that work myself. I must read it immediately.'
I smiled back. 'Good luck with that.'
Especially considering that it's written in an as-yet-undeciphered alphabet consisting of over two hundred unknown letters, and the only existing copy was donated to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences a few years ago.
I would never have guessed reading that article about old books in the Times literary supplement would prove this useful.
Lady Caroline threw a look down at Mr Ambrose, who was currently galloping off into the woods at the head of the hunting party. It was an evaluating look. An is-he-worth-the-sheep's-feet kind of look.
Apparently, she decided he was. I couldn't blame her.
'What about his preferences where ladies are concerned?' Lady Caroline asked, cautiously. 'What would be Mr Ambrose's idea of the perfect woman?'
Me, you slimy, slithering snake in the grass.
But I didn't say that out loud. Instead, I pasted a bright smile on my face and said: 'Oh, I can tell you all about that, in detail!'
Her expression brightened. 'You can?'
'Yes. I clearly remember him expressing his views on the matter when the two of us went to this East End brothel together, and these three prostitutes came up to us– Lady Caroline? Lady Caroline, are you all right? Oh dear! Someone fetch smelling salts! I think Lady Caroline is feeling a little faint for some reason.'
*~*~**~*~*
After that nice little chat, Lady Caroline and her compatriots kept their distance from Mr Victor Linton for some reason.
All the better. I couldn't waste a minute's thought on them. Only two days were left before Christmas Eve. Soon, my true self would have to return to Battlewood for Lady Samantha's big celebration, and, from the way Lord Dalgliesh's eyes gleamed whenever I caught sight of him, he knew it. I had briefly considered just staying away – but if I did, Lord Dalgliesh might dispatch his agents to London. And if they got hold of my family...
I shuddered, cutting off the thought right there and then.
Miss Lillian Linton would have to reappear at Battlewood. But I would be safe, right? Mr Ambrose's men would stand guard in front of my door day and night. Karim would accompany me wherever I went, and this time, I certainly wouldn't try to object. But still...
This was Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh we were talking about. A man who owned a subcontinent could do scary things.
'Mr Linton?'
I looked up. I had been sitting at the desk in my room, aimlessly doodling nooses, knives and bullets on a scrap of paper when the familiar voice came from behind me. Mr Ambrose had stepped into the room, and I hadn't even noticed.
Bloody hell, Lilly, you need to be more careful! What if it had been someone else?
'Yes, Sir?' Swiftly, I rose. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was here for business.
'Your sister will soon return.'
My sister? Hm...is someone in hearing distance?
Deciding it was best to be cautious, I gave the answer with which you could never go wrong with Mr Ambrose. 'Yes, Sir.'
'You and I are both aware of the danger she will be in. Of course, Karim will be on guard. But even he has to rest sometimes. During that time, someone else will have to watch her. I have sent word to the next big town to hire reinforcements, but for now, we will have to content ourselves with one of the four people among the staff who are in my employ. The men, preferably, since they are trained fighters.'
My inner feminist wanted instantly to make a comment – but, blast him, he was right. It was unlikely that a housemaid would be of much use against one of Lord Dalgliesh's men.
'I understand, Sir.'
He nodded briskly, and stepped to the door. 'Come in.'
The door opened, and two men and two women stepped in. The women were housemaids, inconspicuous creatures who looked rather nervous to suddenly be embroiled in a cloak-and-dagger intrigue of this sort. As for the men, one was a young footman, who seemed to share the nervousness of his female counterparts, and the other –
I stared.
'Hastings?'
The venerable butler bowed as far as his paunch would allow. 'Indeed, Sir.'
'You have fighting experience?'
'Before entering domestic service I had the honour of serving with Her Majesty's 7th Royal Fusiliers, Sir.'
'Which means?'
'We were tasked with safeguarding the Royal Artillery while on the move through enemy territory, Sir.'
'What do you say, Mr Linton?' Mr Ambrose's voice was cool, almost disinterested, but there was something in there that caught my attention and held it tightly. 'Will these people suffice to guard your sister? It is your decision.'
My decision.
Our eyes met.
He wants to reassure me, I realised. The clock is ticking. Soon, I'll have to be myself again, and risk the danger. He wants to make sure that I'm not afraid.
Warmth blossomed in my chest. Another man might have given me a hug. Mr Rikkard Ambrose gave me a heavily armed escort.
Well, why not?
I directed my gaze to the younger man, who immediately stood straighter and met my eyes. He didn't look quite so nervous anymore.
'What about you?'
He snapped to attention. 'Three years in the 1st King's Dragoon Guards, Sir.'
Hm. Well, I supposed what was good enough for a king was good enough for me. My gaze slid to the house maids. 'I suppose it's too much to hope that you two served in the army?'
One of the maids gave a nervous giggle. The other looked as if she were about ready to faint. I felt a sudden, violent surge of desire to see my best friend Patsy. She would have made a better bodyguard than anyone else.
Still... my eyes drifted back to the solid, dependable form of Hastings. There was something in his eyes, a hardness I hadn't noticed before. Oh yes, no doubt: this man had been a soldier. And he was still ready to kill, if necessary.
I gave Mr Ambrose a nod.
'They'll do. And...'
'Yes, Mr Linton?'
'Thank you.'
Our eyes met again, and that brief look said more than a thousand words. That night I slept easily, secure in the knowledge that I would have someone reliable to watch my back.
I should have known it wouldn't be so easy.
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My dear Lords and Ladies,
Here, would you like some delicious sheep's feet? **holds out bowl**
I promise you, this might sound like a marvellous joke, but these delicacies did indeed exist. They were a common snack among the lower and middle classes in Victorian England. Knowing that makes feel so wonderfully greatful every time I visit the grocery store ;-)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob