Forty-five very educational minutes later, I came down the stairs, just as Mr Ambrose was rising from beside the prone, opium-drugged figure of Mr Cox, signed contract in hand.
‘Ah. There you are, Mr Linton.’ He regarded me as if I were a chastened lapdog. ‘And? Was your tryst…entertaining?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘I trust you learned your lesson?’
‘Oh yes.’ Somehow, I managed not to smile an evil smile of anticipation. But it was very hard. ‘I certainly did.’
The Art of Imaginary Elopement
As per my instructions, I began my preparations for leaving early next morning. First on the list were my dear relatives. When I told my aunt I was going away for a couple of weeks to visit distant cousins, she jumped with joy. Well, maybe that was overstating it a bit. She didn’t exactly jump - more wrinkled her nose and gave me a ‘why aren’t you gone already?’ look. But she certainly didn’t object to my going. It was the middle of winter, after all, and all the eligible bachelors she planned to marry me off to were holed up in their comfy country estates, and wouldn’t venture out into cold, old, rainy London Town until the beginning of the Social Season in April. So, if right now she couldn’t get
rid of me permanently, why not at least get rid of me for a while?
Loving relatives are such a comfort to a girl.
Whistling a merry melody, I started packing. Nothing much, really. Unlike most women, I didn’t have to drag around whole crates with different dresses, bonnets and perfumes. I just packed what every elegant, modern young lady should have: my favourite books, two pairs of trousers, two shirts, a waistcoat and tailcoat, a corset for squashing my non-existent cleavage, a gun and a big bag of cartridges. The latter two I deemed particularly important. I had heard a little bit about Mr Ambrose’s family, and so had gone out to purchase the necessary equipment. It was always better to be prepared.
But there was one thing I couldn’t pack - because I didn’t have it yet. A thing I’d only recently learned about last night.
Going down into the drawing room, I got some linen, thread, scissors and a needle out of the sewing basket, and settled myself down to work. I wasn’t really an expert with needle and thread, but it couldn’t be that difficult, could it? Let’s see…
Approximately five minutes later, my blasphemous cursing attracted the attention of my little sister, Ella.
‘Lill, what is the matter, are you - oh! You’re trying to sew?’
‘Yes, blast and damn!’
She gave me a warm sisterly smile. ‘I’m so glad you’re finally finding an interest in lady’s work. I was worried about you, always running around saying you wanted to vote and work and God only knows what else. It isn’t healthy to excite yourself like that, you know.’
I could have answered ‘Oh, I’ve been working for nearly a year now, as a private secretary to a business mogul with whom I travel around the world. And did I mention we regularly get shot at by nasty business rivals?’ But I didn’t want to give my dear little sister a heart attack, so I simply made a noncommittal noise.
‘How are you doing?’ she enquired, peering over my shoulder.
‘Bad! Worse! Worst! Worse than worst! The bloody things won’t stay still when I stab at them, and the needle isn’t nearly big enough.’
‘How about if I help you a little?’
I gazed up at my little sister, unashamed pleading in my eyes. ‘Would you? I wouldn’t normally ask, but I have to get this done before I leave tomorrow morning.’
‘Of course! What are sisters for? Let’s see what you’re making, shall we?’
Oops. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
Slowly, Ella raised the long, tube-like linen objects to the light. She looked puzzled for a moment - then smiled. ‘Glove fingers? Gloves! You’re making gloves! How wonderful.’
‘Errr…’ I cleared my throat. ‘Yes. Gloves. Absolutely.’
‘But they can’t be for you, can they? Whoever they’re for must have really big fingers.’
‘No, they are most definitely not for me.’
‘All right. Let’s see…Ah, there’s the problem. Your stitches aren’t regular enough, you see? You have to do it like that…and like that…and that.’
The next few minutes were spent in companionable silence while we sat and worked together - or, Ella worked while I made noises of applause and approval. Finally, we were finished, and Ella regarded our work with pride. But suddenly she frowned, and that confused expression returned to her face.
‘Wait a minute, Lill…if those are for gloves, where are the pieces for the front and back of the hand?’