Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

‘Will you tell me anything at all?’

Silence. Really extraordinary silent silence.

He sat there, glowering, and I stood in front of him, fuming. How quickly things had turned from a relatively companionable work mood into a fierce battle.

‘Um… excuse me?’

Both our heads jerked towards the door. We had been so consumed by our argument that neither of us had noticed how Mr Stone had poked his head into the room. He was nervously playing with his bow tie, his eyes flicking from one of us to the other.

‘I am deeply sorry to disturb you, Mr Ambrose,’ he hastened to assure his employer, ‘only I needed to deliver this memorandum.’ He held up a piece of paper. ‘I knocked twice, but you probably did not hear me over all the… err… shouting.’

‘Well, don't just stand there like an ape, man, give it to me!’ Mr Ambrose snapped, his voice not so devoid of emotion as usual. Mr Stone rushed forward, deposited the memorandum on his master’s desk and got out of the danger zone as quickly as possible. The door fell shut behind him.

‘Why can’t you accept me?’ Strangely, my voice was soft now. Soft and muted. ‘Why can’t you let me do the work that needs to be done, whether harmless or dangerous?’

He met my eyes without flinching.

‘You know why.’

‘Because I am a lady?’

Silence.

‘Talk to me!’

Silence.

‘The search for the file…’ I began again, but a raised hand from Mr Ambrose stopped me in mid-sentence.

‘You want to work for me?’ he snapped. ‘Really, seriously work for me? All right. If it’s work you want, it’s work you’re going to get. Bring me file 38XI201.’

‘The search…’

‘I said bring me file 38XI201!’

What could I do? He was my employer, it was his prerogative to tell me what to do. Honestly, I wondered as I went searching for the appropriate box, maybe Ella and I should just move into the workhouse voluntarily. Surely, the tyranny of the workhouse foreman and the tyranny of Mr Ambrose would be much the same?

Well, I was wrong about that. As I was about to find out, the tyranny of Mr Rikkard Ambrose could be much, much worse.

*~*~**~*~*

‘Bring me file 38XI205! Take this note to stone! Hurry! Here, the safe key! Go and fetch the steam engine model from the safe. No, not that one, the one with two pistons and the larger exhaust outlet. Move faster! If you dawdle so much you’ll never get your work done. Where is that file?’

That’s how it went on all day. He harried me like a pack of vengeful harpies, chasing me from this task to that, and when that was done to these and those and numerous others. It wasn’t long until my feet began to ache and I had numerous paper cuts on my fingers from hastily leafing through files. When I got bloodstains on one of them, he accused me of wilfully damaging company material and ordered me to stop bleeding.

‘How about if I bandage my finger?’ I hissed at him.

‘Too time-consuming. Just stop bleeding, and that’s the end of it!’

I could see exactly what he was doing, but I wasn’t giving in. No matter how much he hounded me, I wouldn’t collapse and admit it was too much, or he was being unfair! I would give him no leverage, no reason to throw me out!

Without pause, I worked as long as I could, but at some point came the time when I had to step up to his desk and say: ‘Um… Mr Ambrose? I have to powder my nose again.’

‘You nose looks fine. Continue working.’

‘Mr Ambrose, do we have to have another talk about euphemisms?’

He hesitated for a moment.