Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

‘For me?’ Frowning, I picked the mysterious object up. No one ever wrote me letters.

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘Hmm.’ Picking up a knife from the table I sliced open the missive. The moment I did, the scent of violets assaulted my nose. I coughed and ripped the letter open the rest of the way. What the hell…?

My dearest Lillian,

It tears at my heart that today I cannot join you at the breakfast table. The time away from you is like torture. Urgent business matters have called me away, and with every mile that I put between me and you, I curse the puny affairs that have made my absence from your side a necessity. I promise, the moment they are concluded, I will hurry back to you, my love. This evening, I shall be back at your side, ready to weep on your bosom from the joy of your presence and…

It went on like that for a good three pages. I didn’t read it, though. I’d had more than enough by the time I had reached ‘weep on your bosom’.

Weep on my bosom?

I wasn’t even exactly sure whether I had a bosom. Chest, maybe, but bosom? I had never been particularly well-stocked in the upstairs department, if you get my meaning. But whether or not I had a bosom, no man on this earth was ever going to get the chance to weep on it! Yuck!

Mr Fitzgerald returned that evening, and though I managed to keep him from either weeping on or kissing me, he used such fiery language to assure me of his everlasting love that it was almost as horrible as ending up tear-soaked. Over the next few days, it got increasingly difficult to escape his loving clutches to get to work on time, and the looks Mr Ambrose threw me when I walked into the office grew progressively colder.

Finally, I decided something had to be done.

‘Morty?’

‘Yes, Lillian my darling?’

We were strolling through Green Park. Or rather, he was strolling. I was stamping, grinding my parasol into the ground with every step.

‘I’m not your darling!’

‘Pardon, Lillian my darling?’

‘Or at least I don’t want to be!’

He smiled and nodded, gazing adoringly at my face. He hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

‘Morty, listen to me! This engagement was a mistake! I don’t love you!’

He laughed.

I’m not joking. He laughed.

‘Lillian, my love! You do make the most amusing jokes!’

‘I’m serious, Morty! I don’t love you! I don’t want to marry you! I don’t want to marry anybody! I’m perfectly fine by myself, thank you very much!’

He laughed again. ‘Getting pre-wedding jitters, are we? Don’t worry, Lillian, my darling.’ Leaning over, he pressed a kiss on my cheek. ‘I know you love me. I’ll be strong enough for the both of us, and soon we’ll be a happy family.’

‘How…wonderful.’

Waste Disposal Squad in Action

How am I going to get rid of him? How am I going to get rid of him? How the hell am I going to get rid of him?

This was the only thought running through my head, again and again, when I made my way to work on Friday. I was getting desperate. I mean, I suppose I could always let myself be led to the altar, and when the priest asked me, ‘Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?’ answer with a big, fat, resounding: ‘No!’

But to be honest, I didn’t know whether anyone would listen to me. I was still a minor. My aunt and uncle could decide practically everything for me. Could they decide whom I was to marry, too?

Part of me was afraid that, yes, they could.

I had to find a way to get rid of Morty! I simply had to! I had no intention of marrying any man. And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be a man like him. It would be a man like -