He cut her off brutally. ‘If you thought that this little invitation would suffice to make me forgive him, think again. He hasn’t earned my forgiveness, and neither have you. You want to know why?’ Beyond the blanket, I could see the shadowy outline of his feet shift, taking a step towards her that would have had princes and kings quaking in their boots. ‘Ask my employees. I make people work for what they earn. Hard.’
Yep. I can attest to that.
‘Rick…I’m sorry. So sorry. Your father and I…we…’
‘Don’t bother. I have heard enough excuses to last me a lifetime.’
‘Please, will you stay just a little bit longer? Stay and talk to him? Once? That’s all I’m asking, please. Just once.’
There was a long moment of silence.
And another one.
And a third one, that lasted even longer.
Finally…
‘Perhaps.’
*~*~**~*~*
The last days at Battlewood Hall flew by. I - or should I say Mr Linton - spent most of it with Adaira, taking long walks in the garden, planning vendettas against Adaira’s enemies in the neighbourhood and exchanging embarrassing details about her brother. We stood beside Lady Samantha as she saw off one guest after another, and gave marks on which disappointed girl made the sourest faces at Mr Ambrose. And all the while, Mr Ambrose didn’t give a single hint that he intended to go upstairs to see his father. And his father most certainly did not seem willing to come downstairs to see his son.
Maybe they would get to talk to each other if the house collapsed?
Finally, the day of departure dawned. Rolling over in my (Ambrose-free) bed, I gazed out of the window. The sun was shining bright through the window. Snow still covered the landscape, but it had slowly begun to melt. And maybe, I thought as I felt a twinge in my heart, the snow isn’t the only thing that’s melting away.
We were leaving this place. Times were changing.
‘Mr Linton! The sun is up! Why are you lazing about? Let’s go! Knowledge is power is time is money!’
I smiled. Well, maybe not too much.
Sliding out of bed, I dressed in women’s clothes and grabbed my parasol. My ‘brother’ Mr Victor Linton had already left yesterday, after a tearful goodbye from Lady Samantha and lots of barely suppressed giggling from her daughter, to prepare for Mr Ambrose’s arrival in London. His journey hadn’t been very long, and had only consisted of a three-mile circle back to the rear of Battlewood Hall. Lilly Linton’s journey would be a little bit longer. The road to London would be tough this time of the year.
Breakfast passed in a friendly mood with lots of lively chatter (between Lady Samantha, Adaira and me) and icy silence (between Mr Ambrose and Mr Ambrose). It was really quite impressive how he managed to give himself the cold shoulder, as well as everyone else in the room. I didn’t let myself be offended, though. I knew exactly what was behind his especially arctic mood.
Breakfast came to an end and the servants rushed in to clear the plates.
‘Darling?’ Lady Samantha cleared her throat. ‘If you want to before you leave…It’s time to go see your father.’
Mr Ambrose raised his eyes from his plate and speared his mother with the glacial gaze that was reserved for debtors and people calling him ‘darling’.
‘Please,’ she said, giving him big, blue puppy dog eyes.
Still, his gaze remained ice-cold and unmoved.
I kicked him under the table.
‘Aargh!’
‘Yes?’ Lady Samantha, whose hearing was apparently optimistic enough to mistake ‘aargh’ for ’yes’, perked up. ‘You’ll do it?’
My dear employer threw me a look that told me I would be paying for this later. I didn’t particularly mind. I had recently discovered a rather interesting way of clearing debts with him.
‘Yes. Yes, I will.’
‘Oh, Rick! Thank you! Thank-’