‘A… war? Over one piece of paper?’
‘Yes. A war. Possibly the biggest I’ve ever fought. I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire.’
‘Why?’ My voice was trembling. My bloody stupid, unreliable voice was actually trembling! ‘What do you care?’
For a second I almost believed a muscle in his face twitched. But no, I was surely mistaken.
‘I…I cannot have a girl being in danger,’ he said, raising his chin determinedly. ‘Any girl. My honour as a gentleman forbids it.’
Out of all the possible answers, this wasn’t the one likely to go down well with me. I leant forward over the desk, my glare almost matching his.
‘I’m not some helpless maiden who needs to be protected! I am a free human being and can do whatever I wish. And if I wish to remain in your employ, then I will remain in your employ until such time as I give you a reason to dismiss me, Sir!’
Slowly, Mr Ambrose clenched and unclenched his fingers.
‘You know, Mr Linton, you have a way of saying “Sir” that makes it sound astonishingly like a synonym for “miserable chauvinist worm”.’
‘I wonder why that is.’
There were a few moments of silent brooding. Nobody could silently brood like Mr Ambrose. He seemed to fill the entire office with an utterly still, quiet, silent and dark disapproval that was so thick you could choke on it.
‘So you won’t go of your own free will?’ he finally asked.
‘No!’
‘You, Mr Linton, are stupid and reckless.’
‘Indeed, Mr Ambrose?’
‘Yes indeed, Mr Linton.’
Half a minute more of silent brooding followed. Oh yes, he could brood exceedingly well, and shoot sinister glances, too. But I wasn’t too bad myself.
‘Why won’t you go?’ he demanded.
‘You know why. This is the only chance I’ll ever get at a career, at independence.’
And I don't want to leave you in your hour of need.
The blasted thought was there, undoubtedly. But I couldn’t admit it out loud. I couldn’t even admit it to myself inside.
‘You could get killed.’ It wasn’t a threat. Not even a warning. It was simply a statement of fact.
‘I know, Sir. Would you pay for my burial?’
‘Are you completely mad?’
‘Not completely, no.’
‘Well, then you should leave right now!’
‘I won’t!’
‘I could make you leave,’ he threatened. ‘We both know that in reality there is no “Mister Victor Linton”. I could reveal you for what you are and make you leave so easily.’
‘You gave your word not to!’
A cold hiss rose from his throat. ‘I never felt more like breaking it! You have no place here. It is all just a mirage. A phantasm. An insane dream of yours.’
I leant forward some more, putting my hands on his desk.
‘What do you want?’ I hissed back at him. ‘What do you dream about? Have I ever asked, or dared to criticize?’
The question seemed to catch him off guard. His mouth opened a little bit. ‘Well… no.’
‘Then don't you dare tell me my dreams are insane! Because my dreams are what I live for!’
Silence again. This time, though, it wasn’t brooding. Rather, it was pondering. And so was he. He pondered for a while - a long while. In the end, I decided that this time I had better break the silence.
‘You didn’t answer my question, Sir.’
‘Which one?’
‘If I die, will you pay for the funeral?’
He stared down at his fingers for a moment.
‘I don't know. It depends on how well you have served me. Maybe, if you’ve earned me enough money by then, I would consider it.’
A grin spread over my face.
‘Does that mean you’ll keep your word? I can stay? In spite of the danger? In spite of being a girl?’
‘Yes!’ he growled. ‘Yes, you can stay - until and unless,’ he added, ‘you leave of your own free will.’
My grin widened.
‘Ha! That’s not very likely, Sir!’
Unclenching his hands, he carefully steepled his fingers together, gazing at me over the top. ‘Don’t be so sure.’
‘Why? What are you going to do? Make me carry twice as many files as before?’
I could have been wrong, of course, about what I thought I saw next. Afterwards I thought I probably had to be wrong. Maybe he was having a muscle spasm around the mouth or something. But for a moment it looked like one of the corners of his mouth actually twitched up in the beginnings of a smile.
‘That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Mr Linton.’
I was feeling great. I had won! Against Mr Arrogant-Stone-Face Ambrose! I was feeling really great - until I got home that evening and saw the familiar coach of Sir Philip Wilkins standing in front of our house, with several servants in attendance.
Blast!
I immediately knew what that had to mean. On his previous visits, when Wilkins had come alone to see Ella, he had arrived in a small carriage with an open roof. The arrival of his largest coach could mean only one thing: a ball. And, moreover, a ball which not only Ella would be attending with him. No. We all would go.
Including me.
Me! Sweet little me, exposed to the horrors and dangers of a ball!
Blast, blast, blast! Why hadn’t I heard of this? Yes, last time he had given us a last-minute invitation, but something like that was far from usual. Normally invitations to balls were issued weeks in advance.
Why didn’t I hear about this? I could have started my protest in time, or hidden in the London sewers, or burned the house down!
I saw my aunt step out of the door. Thank God I had already changed out of Uncle Bufford’s trousers, because a moment later she spotted me and gave me a self-satisfied smile. A very bad word escaped me that I was sure a lady shouldn’t use, especially to describe her own aunt. But I couldn’t help it. I realized what had happened. Of course! That witch had deliberately not told me about the ball so I wouldn’t find a way to get out of it!
For a moment I considered running. I could escape into the dark streets of London and spend the night under a bridge, where surely it would be more comfortable than in a brightly lit ballroom with people everywhere wanting to dance. Nobody would try to step on my feet under a bridge, for a start. But then I remembered Ella and felt ashamed of myself. Hadn’t I promised myself that I would find a way to help my little sister get rid of Wilkins? And here I was shirking going to a ball along with her and her unwanted admirer.