Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘Mr Ambrose! Are you all right?’

His spine snapped straight as if it someone had shoved a ruler up his derrière.

‘What is it, Mr Linton? We’ve got no time to waste.’

Why, the son of a…was he actually trying to pretend there was nothing wrong?

Maybe I should shove a ruler up his derrière. But I would first have to take out the stick that was already in there.

‘You’re bleeding!’

‘Negligibly.’

‘What a lot of horse crap! Just ask your horse, it’ll probably recognize the smell.’

‘Language, Mr Linton!’

Ignoring him, I grabbed the reins of his horse and pulled until it came to a stop.

‘Let go, Mr Linton!’

‘Of course, Sir,’ I said and took a firmer hold, while with the other hand turning him around so I could see his bandage. Just as I had thought! The darn thing had come loose.

‘Didn’t you hear me? That was an order, Mr Linton!’

‘Of course it was, Sir.’

‘Then why aren’t you doing what I tell you to?’

‘Well…’ I batted my eyelashes up at him, the picture of innocence drawn by a drunken sailor on the wall of a disreputable pub. ‘Do you remember our compromise, Sir?’

‘Compromise? What are you talking abo—oh.’

‘Exactly.’

Beaming, I ripped off a fresh strip of cloth from my shirt and wound it around his arm. ‘Ignoring your orders is really fun. Mind giving me another one so I can ignore it?’

‘Be silent, Mr Linton!!’

‘Thank you for obliging. You’re so thoughtful.’

I finished my packaging, and just for the fun of it, gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘There. Does that feel better?’

He gave me a look that could freeze a polar bear’s bone marrow.

‘Let’s go!’

‘Yes, Sir. Or should I call you darling?’

‘I can still cut your salary, Mr Linton.’

‘True.’ Giving a sigh, I spurred my horse. ‘Oh, the injustice in the world…it’s enough to make one cry.’

‘Cry later!’ His horse shot past me, cantering down the road at a dangerous tempo. ‘We have to hurry.’

‘Then let’s.’ Giving my horse another nudge, I shot past him again, flying into the darkness. ‘Last one to the earl is a rotten egg!’

It wasn’t long before we reached the next coaching inn. Unlike at our last stop, here the lights were still burning. When Mr Ambrose wanted to approach, I held him back.