Silence Is Golden

  ‘Trust me,’ I told her, ‘I have it from a good source.’

  Ella was silent for a while.

  Then: ‘The Queen.’

  ‘Yes, Ella.’

  ‘The Queen kissed Prince Albert before they were married.’

  ‘Yes, Ella.’

  ‘So…there can’t really be anything terribly wrong with it, can there?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Another moment of silence. It wasn’t the same silence that always emanated from Mr Ambrose, though. This silence was much less icy, and much, much more thoughtful.

  ‘Lill?’

  ‘Yes, Ella?’

  ‘Would you mind terribly…well…what I meant…what I mean to say…’

  ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘Would you mind if I stepped out for a moment or two? I forgot there’s something I have to do tonight.’

  I bet you do.

  ‘Of course not. Go ahead.’

  Ella was out of bed and at the door before I could blink.

  ‘Thanks!’

  And she was gone.

  The You-Know-What of Horror

  Ella didn’t even wait to put her dress on. She was out before I could move a muscle.

  Hm… where could she be going? You have three guesses, Lilly.

  I only really needed one.

  Sighing, I rolled out of bed, threw on a robe against the cold of the night and went to the window, where I had let the ladder stand, just in case. Down in the house, I could hear the pitter-patter of Ella’s swift, light feet. I, for my part, climbed leisurely out of the window and down the ladder. By the time the back door exploded outward and Ella rushed into the garden, one hundred percent the delectable damsel in her white nightgown, I was sitting behind my usual bush, trying to count the daisies on the ground in the moonlight.

  ‘Edmund!’

  Ella’s cry faded away unheard. Instead of pining at the fence, her lover had apparently done the sensible thing and gone to bed. Ella didn’t seem to realise or care, though. She rushed towards the fence.

  ‘Edmund!’

  Once again, no answer. Gripping the poles of the fence, Ella pressed her face between the bars and called, so loudly that I was worried she might wake up our aunt up in the house: ‘Edmund, my love!’

  However, Edmund my love - or rather her love, thank God - didn’t respond.

  Ella then said a very, very bad word. A word that made me raise my eyebrows and raise my opinion of my little sister’s vocabulary a notch or two. Turning, she stomped over to the garden shed. For a moment I didn’t realise what she was after - until, that is, she reached out her arms and with both hands grabbed the ladder leaning against the shed. The ladder I had used to climb out of the window. The ladder which had rested against the garden shed for over a year without the lovers once getting the idea of using it to climb over the fence.

  I sucked in a breath!

  This was a historic moment! I was almost sorry I didn’t have a professional painter here to record it for posterity. I was still in a daze by the time Ella had reached the top of the ladder. Not hesitating a second, she swung her legs over the fence.

  ‘Mpf! Ouch!’

  There was a dull thud as my little sister hit the ground. It shook me out of my paralysis, and I rose to peek over the bush. Was she hurt?

  But Ella was rising to her feet, dusting earth and bits of grass off her formerly white dress. Without hesitation, she marched off towards the Conways’ house

  And I?

  Why the heck was I still standing here?

  Giving myself a mental kick, I surged forward, grabbing the ladder and starting upwards. Ella was so focused on her goal that she didn’t notice me, not even when I dropped down behind her, emitting a considerably louder thud than she had.

  ‘Edmund!’ she called, softly, advancing towards the back of the Conways’ home. I could only hope that Mrs Conway didn’t have a lighter sleep than her son Edmund, or we’d be in big trouble. Grabbing Mr Metal in both hands, just to be sure, I ducked behind the nearest bush. It didn’t feel comfortable. It wasn’t my bush, my little fortress of feminism where I felt like nothing in the world could touch me. It was a strange bush, with funny-smelling leaves. Plus, a cat left me a little sweet-smelling present there.

  ‘Edmund!’

  My grip around Mr Metal tightened. Shut up! I mentally yelled at my little sister. Do you want to wake up the whole neighbourhood?

  But Ella’s plans apparently were more tightly focused on one particular neighbour. Grabbing a handful of gravel from the path behind the house, she pulled back her arm and let it fly. I had to admit, I was impressed. My little sister had a better arm than I had suspected. The gravel sailed through the air and hit Edmund’s window on the first floor with an audible clatter. Maybe I should take her out to play squash or tennis some time.

  ‘Edmund!’

  Another load of gravel hit the window. A yelp came from inside the house, and footsteps could be heard from within. A moment later, the window slid upwards, and a rather dishevelled-looking Edmund Conway stuck his head outside. His face was sleepy and confused - but the sleepiness vanished the moment he caught sight of Ella.

  ‘Ella, my love! What are you doi - ’

  ‘Come down here!’ Ella ordered.

  ‘But I - ’

  ‘I said come down!’

  ‘But we can’t just-’

  ‘Now, Edmund!’

  He blinked, stared at her for a moment - then withdrew his head. A moment later, he emerged feet-first, and soon dangled from the windowsill. I wondered for a moment how he thought he was going to get in without his dear parents finding out about his midnight rendezvous. But apparently, lovesick minds don’t think that far.

  ‘Umpf!’

  With a thud - which, I noticed with satisfaction, was louder than both mine and Ella’s, even though he had his mother’s rosebushes to cushion his impact - he hit the ground feet-first and fell over. Ella rushed forward. ‘Edmund! Did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘No, no.’ Shaking his head, he attempted to rise - and promptly sank back to his knees. ‘I’m t-totally f-fine.’

  ‘Oh my darling! Don’t do anything so dangerous ever again, do you hear me?’ She hugged him fiercely, conveniently forgetting for the moment that it was she who had asked him to come down to her in the first place.

  ‘I’m fine, really. Why did you want me to come outside?’

  Ella sank down onto her knees, until she was on Edmund’s level. They were only inches apart. I experimentally swung Mr Metal, wondering how hard Edmund’s head would be. If he made one wrong move towards her, we would find out.

  ‘Well…I have been thinking,’ Ella breathed. ‘And I…I wanted to give you something.’

  ‘Give me something?’ He looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. What could you possibly want to give me at this hour of the night? What are doing here?’

  ‘This.’ And, grabbing him by the collar, she pulled him towards her, crushing her lips to his.

  I weighed Mr Metal in my hands, thoughtfully. Could that be counted as him making a wrong move? True, technically he hadn’t moved. But in relation to her he had. If a train hit a pedestrian, was it really the train who was at fault, or the pedestrian?

  Ella continued to maul Edmund for at least half a minute. When she finally broke away, gasping for air, his face was as red as a wagonload of tomatoes.

  ‘Ella, I…I don’t know…’

  Ella apparently knew, though. She pulled him forward again, moulding her lips to his as if she had been doing nothing her whole life except seducing the sons of piano tuners. Maybe she had? What did I know? I should have paid more attention when we were younger to what she was up to when she was off alone.

  ‘Ella! Whatmmmpff…’

  Edmund shut up then, relaxing against her. It apparently was becoming clear to him what exactly Ella was doing here, and that she wasn’t planning to stop any time soon. Slowly, the two of them sank to the ground, until Edm
und was nothing more than a prone body, helpless under Ella’s ravenous lips.

  I had to admit, I was thoroughly impressed. This was a side to my little sister I hadn’t seen before, and I liked it. I liked it a lot. This was much more fun to watch than the gooey ‘I love you’s I normally was subjected to. Smiling, I sat Mr Metal against a tree and sank down onto the grass for a nice, long, late-night entertainment.

  *~*~**~*~*

  I blame Ella. I blame her completely and absolutely. If she hadn’t spent hours out in the garden doing lip-gymnastics with the piano tuner’s son, obligating me to watch out for her, I might not have been as tired the next morning. And if I hadn’t been tired the next morning, I might have been awake enough to withstand my aunt’s attack.

  ‘Up! Up with you! Out of bed! The early bird gets the worm! Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise!’

  ‘I’m not a bird!’ I moaned, pulling the pillow over my head. ‘And I’m certainly no man!’

  ‘No, you remind me more of the worm, to be honest. But that can’t be helped. Out of bed, Lillian!’

  Pillow and covers were stolen from me with one cruel, powerful tug, and I was left helpless and undefended. Moaning, I raised my hands to shield my eyes from the stabbing spears of morning sunlight.

  ‘Can’t I sleep a little bit longer?’

  ‘No! Get out of bed, now! And get dressed! We have a visitor coming for breakfast. Someone I want you to meet.’

  If I had been any more awake than a marmot in hibernation, this comment would have made me instantly suspicious. But alas, I was far too marmotty. I was so marmotty that I didn’t even realise that marmotty isn’t really a word. With another moan, I staggered out of bed, and, after trying several times to slip into the bedside lamp, I found my dress and slipped into it instead. By the time I had struggled into my clothes, I had managed to get my eyes at least half open.

  ‘Good morning, sleepyhead!’ Ella skipped into the room, her cheeks rosy, her eyes gleaming with life. ‘Isn’t it a wonderful morning?’

  I eyed her bright smile grumpily. ‘I suppose that depends on the kind of night you had.’

  ‘I had a wonderful night, Lill! Slept the whole night through, and had the most wonderful dreams.’

  ‘I’m sure you did. Now, would you please help me button up this darn dress? I can’t reach all the way to the back.’

  Five minutes later, after Ella had helped straighten me out and splashed my face with cold water to keep me from starting to snore, we started downstairs towards the dining room. I was feeling moderately more awake and exponentially more worried.

  ‘Ella?’

  ‘Yes, Lill?’ she sighed, her eyes gazing dreamily off into the distance.

  ‘Do you know who it is that Aunt Brank has invited for breakfast?’

  ‘No idea,’ she trilled, dancing ahead of me, twirling her arms. ‘Oh Lill! Isn’t this a wonderful day? Simply extraordinarily beautifully perfect?’

  I wasn’t too sure about that. Aunt Brank had invited someone for breakfast. And, considering my aunt’s preferences, this could only mean one thing: a you-know-what!

  Please! I prayed. Please, let me be wrong! Let it be anything but a you-know-what! Anything else!

  The door to the dining room opened, and Ella danced in, still humming a joyful melody. I followed, hackles raised. But when I saw him, it still nearly knocked me off my feet.

  He was small.

  He was balding.

  He had a round, cheerful face and a broad smile. In other words: he was the incarnation of the devil.

  ‘Ah, there you are, girls.’ My aunt, a vulturous expression on her face, rose and pointed to the man sitting beside her, next to an empty chair clearly reserved for me. ‘Lilly, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Mr Fitzgerald, this is my niece, Lillian Linton.’

  I stared at Mr Fitzgerald, who rose to his feet and made a bobbing little bow. There he was. The nightmare of nightmares. The terror of terrors. The you-know-what which I feared more than anything else on this earth:

  The suitor.

  I hate you, or maybe not, or…Oh, to Hell with it!

  Blast, blast, blast! How the heck had this happened? How had I ended up here?

  This shouldn’t have happened! I remembered it all distinctly: I remembered sitting down for breakfast. I membered Mr Fitzgerald asking whether we were going to the dance at Lady Abercrombie’s this evening, and I remembered saying no. Five times. But apparently that had not been as expressive or significant as the one time my aunt had said yes.

  How she was able to finagle an invitation to the ball out of stuffy, old Lady Abercrombie was a mystery to me. The old owl sent out invitations to her balls four weeks in advance, and was mortally insulted if you didn’t reply by next morning at ten o’clock at the latest. But somehow, my aunt had managed it. Her desire to rid herself of her nieces really knew no bounds.

  And that was how I came to be walking towards the large double-doors of Lady Abercrombie’s palatial town house, while on my one side, my little sister Ella danced along, totally oblivious, lost in memories of last night’s romantic escapades, while on my other side, my aunt hissed all the reasons into my ear why it would be oh-so-advantageous to marry Mr Fitzgerald.

  ‘…a large house here in town, and although he’s not of noble blood, he has a considerable estate in the country. He has an income of at least twelve thousand a year - ’

  ‘Pounds? Pence? Or dead rats?’

  ‘Don’t use that tone with me, young lady! You could be a lot worse off, you know.’

  I gave her a long, long, significant look. ‘Oh, I know.’

  ‘Don’t you dare act superior, missy! Your uncle and I have been the epitome of generosity! We took you in, clothed you, fed you-’

  ‘-and tried to marry me off half a dozen times.’

  ‘Of course! A penniless girl like you should be happy that we would exert ourselves to help you find a husband.’ She let her gaze sweep up and down my figure. ‘God knows, you’d never find one on your own!’

  From behind me, I heard a giggle, but I didn’t turn around to look. I knew who it had come from anyway.

  ‘Well, unlike some people,’ I told the evening air, ‘I’ve never been particularly eager to chain myself to a man.’ Glancing back over my shoulder, I smiled at my twin sisters, Anne and Maria. ‘But it seems that even people who are desperately looking for a rich husband don’t always find one as quickly as they say they will. Isn’t that true, Anne? Maria?’

  The death-glares they sent me in reply were answer enough.

  We had reached the Abercrombie townhouse by now. My aunt swept through the open door. Servants bowed everywhere around us, taking our hats, shawls, coats and whatever else they thought superfluous. At the door to the ballroom, Lady Abercrombie awaited us, her haggard face somehow managing to radiate even more haughty disapproval than my aunt’s when she looked at me. I almost clapped, so impressed was I by the achievement.

  ‘My Lady.’ My aunt curtsied as deeply as her stiff neck would allow. ‘So gracious of you to invite us. We are overwhelmed by your kindness.’

  ‘Hrumph!’ Lady Abercrombie said.

  ‘Quite right, Your Ladyship!’ my aunt simpered. ‘You’re so right!’ She turned to us. ‘Doesn’t her ladyship express herself with inimitable eloquence, girls?’

  ‘She didn’t say anything,’ I pointed out.

  My aunt sent me a glare that could have blasted the walls of Windsor Castle. Old Lady Abercrombie on the other hand raised an eyebrow, and beckoned me closer. ‘Come here, girl!’

  My aunt’s glare intensified tenfold, but there was also a certain vindictive triumph in her eyes. They clearly said: ‘Now you’ve done it! We’ll see how you’ll get yourself out of this one!’

  ‘The rest of you,’ the old lady commanded, ‘amuse yourselves! I’m sure there’s plenty of food to eat and drinks to drink at my expense, and since I’m not going to invite any of you to another ball in
the foreseeable future, you had better make the most of it.’

  ‘Um, yes, Your Ladyship. Of course, Your Ladyship.’

  My siblings in tow, Aunt Brank retreated, and I was left behind alone with the dragon of this sparkling cave. Around us, people chatted, laughed and nibbled at delicacies. Beside me, old Lady Abercrombie just stood, watching everything with sharp eyes, not saying anything.

  She was trying to wear me down with silence. But I had been trained by the best. Lady Abercrombie might have been a tough old shoe to chew, but her cold silence was nothing in comparison to that of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

  Finally, she gave it up.

  ‘Tell me, girl - why is your aunt here?’

  ‘Because Your Ladyship invited her.’

  She gave me a piercing stare.

  ‘And,’ I added, ‘because she wants to marry me off. The man she has her eye on is here tonight.’

  ‘Indeed?’ That seemed to catch her ladyship’s interest. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘A Mister Fitzgerald.’

  Lady Abercrombie’s eyes widened. ‘Morton Marmeduke Fitzgerald?’

  ‘How many Fitzgeralds are here tonight?’

  ‘Two. But the other one is a ninety-year-old.’

  ‘That’s not him.’

  ‘Good God!’ Lady Abercrombie smiled. ‘Morton Marmeduke as Romeo. I wouldn’t have thought it of him!’

  ‘If it is all right with you,’ I murmured with a shudder, ‘I would prefer not to think of him that way, either. So, if we could please talk about something else…?’

  ‘Ah. That way, is it?’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  ‘I can’t really say I’m surprised. Morton is a nice enough fellow, but…well.’

  ‘Exactly, Your Ladyship.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar figure approaching. Instinctively, I took a step backwards.

  ‘Your Ladyship…this place doesn’t happen to have a back exit, does it?’

  Following my gaze, she spotted the round-cheeked, smiling man approaching us, and shook her head. ‘Sorry, girl. You’re going to have to fight this one out on your own.’