Simmons dashed forward and tried to push past Mr Ambrose. He grabbed the ex-secretary’s arm and Simmons whirled around. His hand disappeared under his tailcoat for a moment and reappeared holding a short but wickedly sharp-looking sword.[27]
I think I gave a shout or scream or something, I didn’t really know. Everything happened in a blur of motion. The blade of Simmons' sword came up and would have stabbed Mr Ambrose in the gut, but then it smashed against something I couldn’t see, and a metallic sound rang out over the rooftops.
Mr Ambrose sprang back, holding his cane defensively in front of him. His wooden cane? But then what had made that metallic sound?
Gripping its lower part with the left hand, Mr Ambrose pulled at the hilt of his cane with the right, and a slim blade shot out of the hollow wood. He raised it in a defensive position and waited.
Simmons came at him, giving a loud screech that sounded hardly human. Their blades met with a clang. Mr Ambrose held him in that position, blade to blade
‘You’re finished, Simmons,’ he said, voice still perfectly cool.
‘Really?’ Simmons grunted. ‘What makes you think you’ll beat me?’
‘He does.’ Mr Ambrose nodded to something behind Simmons.
Before the ex-secretary could turn around, Karim stepped up behind him and let the pommel of his sabre come down on his head with a resounding thud. Simmons crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
‘Simmons, Simmons.’ Mr Ambrose shook his head and looked down at the groaning man. ‘You really are a simpleton.’ Bending down, he pried the sword from Simmons' hand. ‘That petty stash of money we found in your room - you should have asked three times as much. Considering the trouble you’re in now, it would only have been appropriate.’
Grabbing Simmons by the neck he hauled him to his feet and more or less hurled the man at Karim, who caught him and delivered another blow to his head that knocked him clean unconscious.
‘Let’s go,’ Mr Ambrose said. ‘We’re finished here.’
The unconscious ex-secretary slung over one shoulder, Karim strode to the staircase entrance that Simmons had been heading for. Apparently, he and the other men had come up this way and had made preparations for coming down again, for when we had climbed down the stairs and left the building, a coach was waiting for us. Not a cab this time, but a real, large coach, with one of those discreetly-dressed men, of which Warren seemed to have an infinite supply, sitting on the box.
The coach was parked directly in front of the entrance, so nobody could see us as we climbed inside. I glanced at Mr Ambrose. Or was he more than just a mister? Images whirled through my head… A noble crest… A suitcase full of money… Flashing swords…
You should have asked three times as much.
Heavens above. What could be worth that much money? What would be worth the risk of betraying this man?
‘What an extravagant vehicle,’ I remarked, trying to dispel my dark thoughts. ‘I’m quite surprised that you would use something as expensive as this.’
‘I did a cost-benefit analysis,’ he replied, drily, pointing to Simmons limp body. ‘And I decided the benefit of not getting thrown into prison for abduction was worth the cost of a coach.’
‘Very wise, Sir.’
‘Agreed, Mr Linton. Pull down the blinds.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You could at least say please.’
‘I could, if I wanted to. Now pull down the blinds.’
The coach had dark blinds on all windows. Once they were pulled down, the interior was quite sinister. It brought back what I had seen on the roof - or at least what I had thought I had seen. Had Mr Ambrose really pulled a sword on Simmons? What kind of man was he to carry a concealed weapon in his cane? What kind of man was he to deny a noble title?
The same questions, over and over again.
No. That wasn’t quite true. There was one new question I had, and one I didn’t feel quite so apprehensive about voicing.
‘What was all that about?’ I wanted to know. ‘That chasing him over the rooftops. Why didn’t we just grab him there in the room?’
Mr Ambrose didn’t look at me. Instead, he kept his dark eyes fixed on the unconscious Simmons. But he replied, in his usual curt tone: ‘To make things easier for us.’
‘I don't understand. How is having to chase him over the rooftops making things easier for us?’
Apparently not in the mood to give lengthy explanations, Mr Ambrose waved to his hired henchmen.
Warren cleared his throat. ‘It’s easier because if we had brought him out through the hotel’s front entrance, or tried to drag him out of the window by force, he would have screamed for help. The guests or hotel staff would have heard and called the police. This way, he attempted to flee, believing that there was still a chance to make a quiet escape. We caught him without anyone being able to interfere.’
‘Ah.’ Slowly I nodded. ‘I see.’
Mr Ambrose nodded, too. ‘Exactly. And now…’ He took a deep breath. If he were capable of something like emotion, I could have sworn it sounded satisfied. ‘Now I can deal with him as I see fit.’
Deal with him as I see fit.
The sentence reverberated in the air with dark promise.
Mr Ambrose raised his cane and knocked against the roof of the coach. ‘Take us to Empire House,’ he called to the driver. ‘The back entrance. We have something to deposit safely in the cellar.’
The cellar? What did he want to put in the ce- oh.
My eyes flicked to Simmons. Of course.
Unbidden, something I had once read in one of my father’s old history books fluttered into my mind. What did earls and lords do when they discovered a traitor among their men? If I remembered correctly, after prolonged torture in some dark dungeon, the traitor in question would be hanged, drawn and quartered.
Oh my God. If Mr Ambrose really was an aristocrat, I fervently hoped he wasn’t one to keep up old traditions.
Making Lieutenant-Pancake
My ear pressed against the solid metal door, I listened intently for any sound of torture. Not that I knew exactly what torture would sound like, apart from the screaming, of course, which was pretty much a given. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try. Not me, at least, I thought with a tiny shiver.
Considering Mr Ambrose’s words, and even more than that the expression of his eyes, I had no doubt that something terrible was happening in there right now. But I couldn’t hear a single sound. Was something the matter with my ears?
But then I suddenly heard footsteps approaching from the other side and hurriedly stepped backwards. A key turned in the lock, and Mr Ambrose exited the room, a ring with a large assortment of keys in his hand.
‘And?’ I asked. God, I was becoming as monosyllabic as he.
‘We’ve managed to get him awake, but he won’t talk.’ Looking down, I saw that Mr Ambrose’s hand was clenched to a fist around the ring of keys. ‘Whoever paid him to do this, they must be powerful and frightening.’
‘How do you know this?’
He fixed me with his steely dark gaze. ‘Because I am powerful and frightening, and he hasn't told me a single thing yet. But he will, eventually.’
How do you know that? How can you be so sure?
Yet those thoughts were not what I spoke out loud. Instead, out spilled the question that had been plaguing me the entire way back to Empire House, the question which I never thought I would have the gall to ask:
‘Will you torture him?’
He looked at me, supreme disdain in his eyes. ‘No. Of course not.’
A momentous weight, which I hadn’t really known was there, dropped from my shoulders. ‘Thank the Lord!’ I breathed. ‘I almost thought…’
‘Why would I sully my own hands?’ he continued, cutting me off. ‘I have people who attend to tasks like that for me.’
‘Oh.’
The weight slammed right back in place.
My mood swing had apparently gone c
ompletely unnoticed. He motioned towards the closed steel door behind him with a careless finger. ‘I have put Karim in charge of the investigation, and he has his methods.’
‘Methods like what?’ I demanded. Darn, this was… frightening. Something inside me told me I should report this to the police. But if I did that, I would end up on Mr Ambrose’s list of traitors, barring all chances of my independence. I was too selfish to risk my entire future on behalf of some greedy little thief I didn’t know from Adam. All right, I know I’m not a very good person! But at least I’ll get paid for it soon.
Mr Ambrose still hadn’t answered. He was looking at me intently.
‘Methods like what?’ I repeated the question.
‘That’s nothing a lady such as yourself needs to concern yourself about.’
‘Oh, I’m a lady now, am I?’
‘Currently, it looks like it,’ Mr Ambrose said, gesturing towards my dishevelled dress. ‘More or less, at least. It’s high time that you got back into your trousers though, Mr Linton.’
I narrowed my eyes.
‘Why? Do you have work for me, Sir?’
‘No. I’m sending you home early.’
I was about to protest when he raised his hands. ‘I know. I agreed…’ he paused to take a deep breath and with effort said: ‘I agreed to let you work for me, just like any other private secretary. This is not an attempt to get rid of you early. I’m giving you half the day off because you’ve had an exhausting day so far. Trust me, even if you don't notice it now, you’ll notice once the excitement of the hunt goes away. You need to rest, and I need to stay with Karim for a bit longer, so right now I don’t have anything for you to do. Tomorrow you will come back, and you will work for me as hard as anybody else.’
For a moment I searched his face, trying to determine whether or not he was being truthful. Of course it didn’t work. Not with his standard stony expression.
‘Promise?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘I promise on my honour as a gentleman.’
‘But…’ I hesitated before asking the question. ‘But I’ll still have to come dressed up as a man?’
‘Yes.’ His voice was as hard as granite. ‘I cannot and will not accept a female secretary. I will not be made a fool of in front of the entire city. Either you come dressed as a man, or you never return.’
I nodded. This was hard for me to accept, but it was unavoidable. I turned to leave, but Mr Ambrose called me back, and so I turned again.
‘What is it, Sir?’
‘You know very well what it is. I want to know.’
‘Want to know what?’
‘Your method, of course. Well?’
‘What method? What are you talking about?’ I asked, truly bewildered.
A muscle in his jaw twitched in an annoyed sort of way. ‘Don’t play games with me! How did you do it? Find out where Simmons was?’
Ah! That was what was eating him. I struggled mightily to constrain my grin but probably failed.
‘How about a deal?’ I said. ‘I tell you my method, and you tell me what’s in the stolen file?’
His silence was answer enough.
Once again, I saw that mountain of money in front of my inner eye. And he had said it was too little payment…
‘I won’t tell a soul,’ I said. ‘I promise!’
‘No!’ He shot a glare at me. ‘I don't have to make any deals with you. You work for me. You will tell me how you did it. Now!’
I hesitated. ‘Well…’
I told him. I told him everything, with probably a bit more embellishment and gloating than necessary, but accurately enough. It had worked after all, hadn’t it? There was no harm in taking pride in my work.
When I was finished, his stony face was even stonier than before - but his eyes were slightly wider as he gazed at me, and his mouth stood open a fraction.
‘Still sure you don't want a female secretary?’ I asked.
Then, before he could answer, I curtsied and hurried away.
*~*~**~*~*
I had decided to change back into men’s clothes in my office. It would mean that I would have to change again when I came home, but under no circumstances could I go home in the dress Mr Ambrose had bought for me. None of my family had ever clapped eyes on it before, and besides, it wasn’t in very great shape. I was a bit concerned about changing in my office - after all, I couldn’t lock the doors, so what if anybody came in? - but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go.
As it turned out, my concern was totally unnecessary. On the desk in my office I found a small package. A note was pinned to it, saying:
Dear Mr Linton,
Mr Ambrose instructed me to leave these for you. A friendly word of caution: It is very unusual for his secretary to be entrusted with these around the clock. Take good care of them.
Yours Sincerely,
Edgar Stone
My curiosity spiked. What was in there? Well, there was only one way to find out. I ripped open the paper around the package, and in a little cardboard box I found a ring of keys, not as large as the one Mr Ambrose had been carrying but still substantial. On it hung a key labelled Secretary’s Office and another labelled Head Office.
Slowly, a smile spread over my face. He trusted nobody, hm? Well, maybe he was making an exception to the rule.
Then I noticed that there was no key labelled Safe on the ring. Well, it seemed as though he was starting to trust me, at least.
But then, why was he still refusing to reveal the contents of the file…?
I stood there, clutching the set of keys to my chest, feeling oddly emotional. Why, though? Why should it matter to me whether or not my master trusted me? He was just the man I was working for. A man who had yet to pay me my first wages at the end of the month. Whether or not he trusted me was immaterial, as long as I got the money, right?
Yet still, the fact that he was opening up to me touched something deep within me. I felt that maybe, just maybe, he might be starting to respect me. If not as a woman, then at least as an intelligent human being with a head on its shoulders, provided I wore trousers.
Taking the ring of keys, I locked both doors to my office and started the mind-numbing process of changing.
You don't think there’s anything more difficult than getting out of a corset and crinoline? Try getting out of a corset and crinoline which are broken and bent in strange angles in at least a dozen places. I felt like a cat trying to squeeze myself through a labyrinth of rat holes.
When I finally stood only in my underwear, it was a relief. I was just about to reach for Uncle Bufford’s trousers when a knock came from the door, and the door rattled as someone pushed against it.
I almost jumped out of my skin.
‘Y-yes?’ I asked, not sounding very manly at all. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Linton? It’s me, Mr Stone. May I come in?’
‘Err… not as such, no.’
‘Why? Are you busy?’
No, I’m standing around in women’s underwear, which, apart from being pretty indecent, makes it more or less obvious that I’m a girl!
‘Um… yes, that’s it. Very busy. Very, very, very busy in fact.’
‘I see. Well then, I won’t disturb you any further. I just wanted to ask if you found the keys all right?’
‘Yes, I did.’
Yes I did, thank God, or else my office door wouldn’t be locked right now, and you’d be staring at me in my drawers!
‘Very well. I understand you’re leaving now, Mr Linton?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Mr Ambrose?’
‘He’s very, very busy, too, Mr Stone.’
‘I see. Well, I’ll leave you alone then. Till tomorrow.’
‘Yes, goodbye, Mr Stone.’
I heard him moving away and let out the breath I had been holding. I’m not sure what Mr Ambrose’s reaction would be to someone discovering my true gender, but he wouldn’t be jumping up and down with joy,
that much I could tell. Maybe he would be jumping up and down on me instead, wearing iron-shod boots.
Though he probably would shrink from such a display of emotion. He would get Karim to do it. The big fellow would be excellently suited for the task and all too happy to oblige. For some reason, the thought brought a smile to my face.
Grabbing Uncle Bufford’s trousers, I dressed in my unusually usual outfit again and left the office, locking the door behind me. Not that I thought somebody might steal my fountain pen, it just was a good feeling. My space. My door. My key. Stuffing the keys securely into my deepest pocket, I began the long descent down to street level.
I didn’t call a cab. Luxuries like that would have to wait until I actually received my first pay cheque. Instead I walked home slowly, enjoying for the first time in my life the feeling I had done something useful. No sitting around trying to knit or sew, no silly whirling around in a ballroom full of overdressed nitwits. I had been out there in the real, rough world. And I would return there soon.
My exultation lasted all the way home. As I went in through the garden door and into the shed to change, slowly my feelings of joy waned and I suppressed a yawn. God, my legs hurt from all that running over roofs. The real world was pretty tiring.
As I approached the front door, another concentrated wave of tiredness hit me. Mr Ambrose had been right, today had been exhausting. I needed some rest, and I needed it quick. Fortunately, nothing was likely to get in the way of that. My aunt was sure to be too busy with my other sisters to care if I was lazy and slept through the afternoon.
That was when I first heard the excited chatter from inside the house. Strange… It sounded like we had a visitor. But who would come to visit us? I had to be mistaken.
The moment I stepped into the house, though, the door to the salon flew open and my aunt appeared in the doorway. ‘There she is!’ She exclaimed, a triumphant smile on her face. ‘And just in time. Lilly, my dear, I have a wonderful surprise for you!’
Oh-oh. That didn’t sound good.
‘What surprise?’ I yawned, and blinked furiously to keep my eyes open.
‘Look who has come to visit you,’ my aunt replied smiling, and waved invitingly to somebody in the room. Footsteps could be heard, and then, directly beside my aunt’s triumphant visage, appeared the arrogantly smiling face of Lieutenant Ellingham.