‘Why did you try to make me believe that you were in love with Miss Hamilton?’ I asked once again. I had already asked that question about half a dozen times since we left Empire House. So far, I hadn’t gotten an answer. Mr Ambrose just sat in his corner of the chaise and brooded, silently. Say what you will about his other traits, but he was an expert at silent brooding. Disapproval at my incessant questions, and at my presence, gender and existence in general radiated off him like heatwaves. Unfortunately, unlike heatwaves, it did nothing to warm my soaked clothes.
‘Tell me!’ I insisted. ‘You’re about as likely to be in love as the doorknob of my privy door back home! Why did you pretend to be in love with her?’
With a cold look in my direction, Mr Ambrose leaned out of the window. ‘Karim!’
The big Mohammedan shifted, turning around. His weight made the little vehicle lean to the side in a dangerous way, and I had to work hard to stifle a scream. Only the knowledge of the way Mr Ambrose would look at me if I screeched like a silly damsel in distress kept my teeth firmly clamped together.
‘Yes, Sahib?’ our driver enquired calmly, not at all bothered by his master’s cold look.
‘Karim, is there any particular reason why this… individual is accompanying us?’ He pointed to me.
Karim shrugged. ‘She wanted to get in the coach. So, she got on into the coach, Sahib.’
‘Just in case you didn’t notice, I’m sitting right next to you,’ I pointed out, staring daggers at Mr Ambrose.
He ignored me.
‘I know she got into the coach, Karim. I want to know why. Did I give orders for her to accompany us?’
‘No, Sahib.’
‘In fact, I remember distinctly saying that she was not to be involved in the search for the file, correct?’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
‘So, I repeat, and trust me, I won’t do it again: why is she here?’
‘It is rude to talk about people as if they weren’t there!’ I snapped. ‘And even ruder not to answer their questions! What about Miss Hamilton?’
Again I was ignored. Karim shrugged, and it was a mystery to me how he managed to do that without falling out of the coach. The chaise swayed again, and the horse whinnied.
‘A shrug?’ Mr Ambrose’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘That’s all? Why didn’t you stop her?’
‘Why did not you, Sahib?’ Karim asked, deadpan.
Silence.
‘She wanted to get in the coach,’ he repeated. ‘She is the woman that is worse than Ifrit. I do not disagree with a woman that is worse than Ifrit.’
Mr Ambrose gave his servant another cold glare, which the Mohammedan dutifully ignored. From Mr Ambrose’s stonier-than-stone face, long past granite and transcended into the realms of fossils, I gathered he didn’t like to be ignored.
Well, neither did I!
‘Excuse me!’ Impatiently, I tapped on his shoulder. ‘Will you answer my question now? Why the heck did you pretend to be in love with that shrew?’
Immediately, Mr Ambrose switched targets. His frostbite-inducing stare, before directed at Karim, now turned to me.
‘Have you forgotten what I told you, Mr Linton? As long as you are in my employ, you will speak respectfully to me and refer to me as “Master” or “Sir”.’
Swallowing the answer I would have liked to deliver, I gave him a tight smile.
‘Yes, of course, Sir. I thought you said earlier, Sir, that you had decided to dismiss me, so I no longer considered a formal address necessary. I am so glad you have changed your mind and will allow me to continue to work for you, Sir.’
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘I’ve changed my mind. Be as rude as you want to me. You’re dismissed.’
‘Oh no, Sir. I couldn’t possibly forsake you in your hour of need.’ I pointed out the window at the wet houses rushing past in the gathering darkness. ‘Besides, we’re already on our way to get the stolen file back. You can’t stop now, when that might mean that it could slip through your fingers.’
He studied me, his eyes narrowing the fraction of an inch.
‘I’m not going to get rid of you, am I?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘I am the master here! I can decide to dismiss you whenever I want.’
‘You gave your word, remember? Your word that I would get this position.’
‘Get it, not keep it.’
‘Did I do anything to deserve to lose it?’
Silence.
‘Well, Sir? Did I? Really, honestly? On your honour as a gentleman?’
Silence.
Then, speaking as if every word was a painfully pulled tooth, he said: ‘No! Congratulations! You managed to disobey me and ridicule me by following my instructions to the letter! I cannot dismiss you!’
With a happy little smile on my face, which I made sure he couldn’t see, I snuggled into the moth-eaten old upholstery of the chaise bench, creating my own little corner of warmth.
‘I’m very gratified to hear it, Sir,’ I mumbled. ‘So I suppose this means I’m still in your employ?’
It was impressive how he managed to sound both displeased and grudging, while at the same time maintaining a perfectly cool, aloof voice. ‘I suppose that is correct.’
Maybe I even heard a little admiration there. But no, I was probably mistaken.
‘Good. Then perhaps now you can answer my question: Why pretend to be in love with Miss Hamilton?’
His left little finger twitched minutely. For him, that was the equivalent of an impressive scowl.
‘You don't give up, do you, Mr Linton?’
‘No, Mr Ambrose.’
He sighed. It was such an unusual thing for him to do that it made me come out of my little protective corner of warmth and turn towards him. But he had turned away from me and was looking out of the chaise window. For a minute or two he didn’t say anything. I had almost opened my mouth to ask once again when he suddenly began:
‘When I spoke to you at the ball - you remember, when we were dancing?’
‘Oh yes, I remember.’ I suppressed a snort. Rotating around the ballroom with the granite statue of London’s richest businessman holding me close - I wasn’t about to forget that in a hurry! It surely had to have been one of the most awkward moments of my life. And yet, I realized suddenly, in retrospect, a moment oddly dear to me. Strange.