‘There you go.’ With a swipe of his forefinger, sliding a stray lock of hair behind my ear, he finished. ‘Much less faeneumerial.’
‘Faenewhat?’
‘Haystackish.’
‘Ha, ha.’
‘Attention please!’ The voice calling from the door did indeed catch the attention of everyone in the room. It was the kind of voice designed to catch attention: deep and carrying, with a slight burr in it. The little man it belonged to wasn’t nearly as impressive, but his uniform made up for it. From all the bright crests and golden tresses, I guessed he was some kind of Royal Herald. ‘Attention, everybody. The Royal Couple is approaching. Please take your places.’
Happily Ever After with Whiskers
‘Come.’
Mr Ambrose offered his arm to me, and I slipped mine into it almost without thinking. We retreated to the first row of chairs, but when I started to sit down, Mr Ambrose gripped my arm tighter.
‘No!’
‘But…that man said for us to take our places.’
‘Yes. Standing. You don’t sit in the presence of royalty.’
‘But…that’s stupid!’
‘Yes, it is. But until and unless someone successfully explains this to the reigning monarch, we stay upright.’ His free hand reached up and, gently, with the back of his knuckles, graced my hair. ‘Understood, Miss Linton?’
The way he said ‘Miss Linton’ sent a delicious shiver down my spine. I hadn’t heard him say this in months, and it touched some spot deep inside me I hadn’t even known existed.
I swallowed, trying to get out of my throat the lump that was suddenly lodged there.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Adequate.’
The Royal Herald pounded the floor with his staff. ‘His Highness, Prince Francis Albert Augustus Charles Emmanuel of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Duke of Saxony!’
I leaned over towards Mr Ambrose. ‘Is that two people he just announced, or three?’
‘One! Be quiet, Mr Linton!’
‘Miss Linton to you, Sir.’
‘Be quiet!’
A man entered the room. Except for the splendidly impressive scarlet uniform with golden tresses, he didn’t look much like a prince. He had a round face, and a rather silly little moustache perched on his upper lip. When he bowed and spoke to some duke or other, one could clearly hear the traces of a German accent, and his smile seemed just as silly as the moustache one floor above.
I leaned over to Mr Ambrose.
‘Why would anyone want to marry that?’
‘Miss Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Shut up!’
‘Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir.’
Finally, the Prince of Saxe-So-and-so had worked himself through all the people present with a series of bows, nods and silly smiles, and had reached the front of the crowd where Mr Ambrose and I stood.
‘Follow my lead,’ Mr Ambrose hissed into my ear. ‘Do exactly what I am going to do!’
‘What? Stare at him icily?’
‘Just do what I do!’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Mr Ambrose pulled me towards the Prince - and smiled.
I am not joking.
A bright, broad, shining smile spread across the face of the man whose facial muscles ordinarily seemed to be made out of granite. In my entire life, I had only seen Mr Ambrose smile like that once before, and I remembered very well what had happened that day.
Poor Prince Albert…
‘Your Highness!’ Mr Ambrose gave a sweeping bow. ‘I am so delighted that you were so kind as to invite me to your special day.’
The silly smile on the Prince’s face broadened. ‘You are welcome, Herr…’
Mr Ambrose waved his hand. ‘We’ve only met once before. I doubt Your Highness would see fit to remember me.’
‘But of course I do! Herr Rikkard Ambrose, isn’t it?’
‘Yes! You honour me, Your Highness.’
‘Not at all!’ Reaching out, Prince Albert grasped Mr Ambrose’s hand and shook it energetically. ‘After your generous contribution to the orphanages in my home city, how could I not remember? Thank you, Herr Ambrose. Ich danke Ihnen von ganzem Herzen. You are a truly good and generous man.’
I had just about managed to keep my mouth closed when Mr Ambrose had started to smile. But now, my jaw dropped open.
Mr Ambrose had donated money?
Of his own free will?
To a good cause?
Was he sick? Should I check his temperature?
‘It was my pleasure, Your Highness,’ Mr Ambrose said, looking deeply and earnestly into the Prince’s eyes. ‘How could I stand idly by and let little children suffer when it was in my power to help? After all, what are a few thousand pounds sterling?’
A strangled noise erupted from my throat. Mr Ambrose glanced over at me, still smiling. ‘Something wrong, my darling?’
A few thousand pounds sterling…!
‘N-no. Nothing at all.’
‘Wonderful.’ Taking me by the arm, Mr Ambrose led me a step closer towards the Prince. ‘Your Highness, please allow me to introduce my lovely companion for today: Miss Lillian Linton.’
The Prince performed a deep bow. ‘How do you do, Fräulein Linton?’
I curtsied in my best courtly fashion. If Aunt Brank had seen me, she would have been proud. Well, actually, if Aunt Brank had seen me, considering where I was and who I was talking to, she would have passed out. But, after she had woken up again, she would have been very proud, I’m sure.
‘When I invited you, I had no idea that you would appear in such charming company,’ the Prince added towards Mr Ambrose.
For a moment, the smile on Mr Ambrose’s face flickered. ‘Neither had I.’ His grip on my arm tightened. ‘But the Fates play with the string of one’s life as they please, sometimes.’
I couldn’t manage to completely hide my self-satisfied grin. Fates my foot!
‘But not even Miss Linton can hope to outshine your bride on her big day.’ Reaching out, Mr Ambrose grasped the Prince’s hand. ‘May I congratulate you, Your Highness, on your good fortune, and wish you perfect happiness in marriage? There is nothing as important in life as finding a good woman to love, and you have found the best of noble blood in the whole wide world.’
My poor jaw! I had just managed to pull it up again, and - wham! - it came slamming open again.
What did he just say?
‘Thank you!’ The Prince almost looked as if he had tears in his eyes. ‘You don’t know what this means to me, Herr Ambrose, coming from a man like you. I truly hope that once the bustle of the wedding is over, you will come visit me and my bride at Buckingham Palace?’
‘I should like nothing better.’
‘Attention, please!’ All eyes went to the herald again. ‘I have just received word that Her Majesty is approaching. Would everyone return to their places, please?’
Mr Ambrose squeezed the Prince’s hand one more time, then let go and, still smiling as if he had lockjaw, steered me away. He had to steer me because I was too busy staring suspiciously at the grin on his face to think of moving my feet.
‘What is this?’ I demanded in a low voice. ‘What’s wrong with your face?’
‘Miss Linton?’
‘Yes?’
‘Shut up!’
‘I won’t shut up! I want to know what… Hey!’
Ignoring my protest, Mr Ambrose manoeuvred me into a corner and only stopped when we were firmly situated at the left end of the front row of guests.
‘What is the matter with you?’ I pressed. ‘Three thousand pounds sterling? You gave three thousand pounds sterling to an orphanage? Did someone knock you over the head with an iron bar?’
He turned that radiant smile on me - that smile that sent a shiver of danger down my spine.
‘Is it so unbelievable that I would do a generous deed out of the goodness of my heart?’
I eyed him for a moment. ‘Frankly - yes!’
‘I see you’ve come to know me well, Mr. Linton.’
‘I have, unfortunately. And that’s Miss Linton to you, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’
‘Miss. As you wish.’
‘Why did you give away three thousand pounds?’
‘You cannot catch fish without bait on the hook, Miss Linton.’
I didn’t really know what he meant by that. But I would have eaten a pot full of pus before admitting that to him.
‘Three thousand pounds is a pretty big bait.’
That smile flashed again, and this time I saw what I hadn’t seen the first time he had pulled this trick on me: the underlying ice behind the smile, and the calculating coldness in his eyes.
‘Oh, the three thousand pounds aren’t the bait, Miss Linton.’ Half-turning, Mr Ambrose nodded towards Prince Albert. ‘He is.’
My eyebrows shot up. ‘Then you have to be catching a fish with pretty strange tastes!’
‘Indeed. There she is.’
I followed the stiff nod of his head just in time to see a figure in white appear at the door. My eyes shot back to Mr Ambrose. He couldn’t be serious! Could he?
Mr Ambrose saw me looking and gave me the tiniest of nods.
Yes. He could.
My eyes went back to the door, just as the herald pounded his staff onto the floor. ‘Her Majesty Alexandrina Victoria, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland!’
The Queen smiled shyly and nodded at the assembled crowed, who all bowed deeply. With her pale, moon-shaped face and too small mouth, she wasn’t really much better-looking than her husband-to-be. But when her eyes met Albert’s, a smile lit up her face, a real, live smile, and an answering smile spread over the Prince’s features. Suddenly, he didn’t look quite so silly anymore.
‘Tell me why you think of the Queen of England as a fish?’ I whispered to Mr Ambrose.
‘Later, Miss Linton.’
‘But-’
‘Later!’
I gave up my protests. To be honest, I was too caught up in watching the couple. Music had started playing in the background, and Victoria was walking towards the altar, suddenly seeming much taller and more royal than before. When the bride and bridegroom stood beside each other, a light appeared to shine out of their eyes that was brighter than the sun. No great achievement on a rainy day like this, but still…the looks on their faces stirred something deep within me.
I glanced over at Mr Ambrose. He was standing stock-still, not looking at me. The moment the couple turned towards the altar, away from him, the bright smile bled from his face, leaving only cold stone in its place.
For some reason, it made me happy.
The priest cleared his throat.
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face-’
At the word, my eyes were inexplicably drawn back to Mr Ambrose’s face. Why? Why did I, now of all times, feel an irresistible urge to drink in the sight of him? Yes, he was the most breathtakingly handsome man imaginable. Yes, he looked a thousand times more like a king than poor Prince Albert ever would. But he was a chauvinist miser, a tyrannical, ruthless opportunist. Exactly the kind of man I most despised!
Or at least I should most despise.
With great effort, I tore my eyes away from his face.
‘…of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’
They jumped right back, unable to look away. Blast them! A girl should be able to rely on her own visual organs to do what she wants, shouldn’t she?
Suddenly, looking at him standing beside me, I realized something: he had shifted. Only slightly, very slightly. But as finely attuned as I was to detecting minimal changes in his stony features, it took me only moments to spot that his right hand had made an almost imperceptible movement - towards me!
Ha! You’re probably just imagining it. Or maybe he just shifted a bit. So what? People shift all the time when they have to stand around..
People, yes. But Mr Ambrose? Mr Rikkard I’m-made-of-granite-harder-than-your-chisel Ambrose?
All right, maybe you didn’t imagine - There! Look, he did it again!
Yes. He had indeed. His hand had moved a fraction of an inch closer to mine. And, to my horror, I felt my own hand starting to move. What was this? After my eyes, was I now losing control over my hands, too? This was intolerable!
But my hand didn’t seem to care about my feelings. It stubbornly inched closer towards those long, elegant fingers. Fingers chiselled from cool, smooth stone.
‘…which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union…’
My hand shifted another inch closer. Damn! Why did that bloody priest have to use all those words like ‘join together’ and ‘union’?’ Couldn’t he say ‘division’ instead, damn him?
‘…that is betwixt Christ and his Church…’
Oh. Well, I suppose not. A mystical division between Christ and his church would not be convenient, from a religious point of view.
Mr Ambrose’s hand moved another fraction of an inch closer.
I glanced up at his face. It showed no emotion whatsoever.
‘…which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee; and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts…’
At that very moment, both our hands twitched towards each other two whole inches. My cheeks started to burn, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t even know why our hands were doing this…this moving towards each other! Why was this happening? How was it happening? And what did it bloody mean?
I’ve got a better question, said that little voice in the back of my mind. Why are you still thinking about the phrase ‘carnal lusts’?
‘Shut up!’ I growled, too low for anybody to hear.
‘…and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained. First, It was ordained for the procreation of children…’
Why, in God’s name, why, were my eyes once more drawn to his face at those words? Why was I suddenly imagining what he had looked like as a child? What a child of his would look like?
Forget about what it would look like! That annoying little voice inside me cut in. Imagine what a nasty little bloody tyrant it would be!
I wrenched my eyes away from his face again and tried my best to pull my fingers away, too - but to no avail. Once more, they inched closer.
‘…to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy Name. Secondly, It was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication…’
Blast, blast, blast! Why couldn’t I stop blushing? Blast!
‘…that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry, and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ's body.’
Right now I didn’t feel like an undefiled member of Christ’s body. I didn’t even feel as if I wanted to be undefiled, thank you very much. Cautiously, I sneaked a peek at Mr Ambrose again, to see if he was in the mood for some defiling.
‘Thirdly, It was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.’
I felt a sudden tugging in my chest. The desire that made my cheeks flame was still there, but over it, enveloping, overshadowing it, was another much more frightening feeling. A feeling that made me want to cross the rest of the distance between Mr Ambrose’s hand and mine. Not to feel how his smooth skin curved over the muscles of his hand and arm, but simply to hold his hand in mine and feel the warmth emanating from it.
‘…Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined.’
Our hands moved again. No
w they were only fractions of an inch apart. Still, Mr Ambrose had not looked at me. He kept staring ahead, his face as unmoving, hard and perfect as that of an Ancient Greek statue. I honestly couldn’t say what my own face showed in that moment. I didn’t understand half of the emotions roiling in my chest.
‘Therefore if any man can shew any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forevermore be silent.’
And Mr Ambrose was silent. He was silent as stone as he moved his fingers the last few millimetres and interlaced them with mine. Around us, tumultuous cheers exploded and a choir started singing with angels’ voices. I heard nothing - only Silence. The silence of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. And among all the cheering faces, I saw only his.
And inside of me, a voice kept chanting: What is going on? What is going on? What the bloody hell is going on here?
‘Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’
Ah, yes! A wedding was going on here. And not mine. I had to remember that, in spite of the wonderfully strong hand gripping my fingers. In spite of the tingling feeling dancing up my arm, temping me to step closer towards him.
The voice of the bridegroom rang out through the entire chapel, clear for all to hear: ‘I will!’
Mr Ambrose’s hand squeezed mine, tightly, and mine squeezed back without asking my brain for permission. My heart pounded, and suddenly, my chest felt indescribably warm.
Help! What’s happening to me?
Behind the Smile
‘Well, that went rather well, Mr Linton.’
‘Huh?’
I blinked. I was in a coach? How had I ended up in a coach? I could have sworn I was in a chapel a moment ago, holding the hand of-
‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, are you listening to me?’
‘Eerr…well…’
Slowly, I raised my head, looking up into the face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. It was emotionless as ever, hard and cold. No trace of what we had shared just a moment ago was visible in his features.