Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘Y-yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir.’

The waiter stumbled away, and I took a sip of soup. From under the table came the sound of energetic chewing, reminiscent of a beaver determined to fell a whole forest. Soon, the last bite was gone, and a small hand appeared to snatch another slice of pie.

‘That young drapery miss really fancies you, mister.’[4]

I gave the table a censorious look. ‘Shut up and eat.’

‘So,’ he said, completely ignoring my order, ‘have you prigged her yet?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Prigged. You know? Docked her, done the beast with two backs—’

‘I know what it means! The question is, how do you? How old are you exactly? And no, I haven’t! And I’m not going to!’

‘Oh.’ For a moment, thoughtful silence reigned under the table. ‘Do you mind if I give it a try, then? She’s quite easy on the eyes, and maybe…’

I kicked the table.

‘Eat! And be quiet!’

‘Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir.’

*~*~**~*~*

I put the rest of my ‘be-an-arsehole’ plan into effect that very day. When I met Miss Harse and her mother on the promenade deck later that day, I gave no greeting, but instead marched past them in sullen silence.

‘Mr Linton!’

I turned. Apparently, my egregious lack of manners wasn’t sufficient. Oh well…time to fire a bigger calibre.

‘Mr Linton, have you heard? The captain said we’ll reach the French coast tomorrow. Oh, I’m so excited.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ I snapped. ‘And neither should you be!’

Taken aback, she retreated a step. ‘Mr…Mr Linton?’

‘France isn’t as safe as England.’ Where you get robbed by highwaymen on public roads. ‘Two women travelling alone? It would be insupportable!’ I let my derisive gaze slide over them, channelling every chauvinistic bastard I had ever heard. ‘Women are weak. Women are defenceless without a strong man to protect them. You should turn around the moment we land in France.’

Wow. It was amazing how easy it was to spout this sort of nonsense while you were wearing this getup. Maybe it was something about the big pair of socks stuffed down the front of my trousers. They seemed to have taken on a mind of their own.

Regardless of where they’d come from though, I could see that my words were having the desired effect. Emilia’s cheeks had paled, and her mother had taken a step backwards.

‘Mr Linton…Mr Linton, are you…’

A total and utter asshole? Yes!

‘…concerned for me?’

What? No! No, no, nononono!

‘That’s so sweet!’ Not giving a damn that people were watching, Emilia rushed forward and hugged me as if I were a big piece of solid chocolate. Good God! If she felt the socks…

‘Oh, Mr Linton!’ Glancing up at me, her cheeks reddened, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘You rogue!’

I want to die. I want to die right here and now. Spontaneous combustion would be nice. Or maybe some kind of horribly painful, quick-acting poison?

‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t be travelling through France alone. I’ll have you to protect me.’