‘Not that it was Mr Ambrose himself who caused an outrage: no, it was the behaviour of his secretary, whom he had brought along to the meeting, that was beyond all bounds of decorum - a young and still beardless young fellow people heard Mr Ambrose refer to as “Mr Linton”.’
Blast!
Lowering the magazine an inch or two, Mr Ambrose’s deadly stare burrowed into me. I swallowed, surprised I didn’t drop dead on the spot.
‘At this event,’ Mr Ambrose continued reading, somehow managing to keep me pinned with his gaze while simultaneously looking at the pages in front of him, ‘a rally held officially against the absurd notions of feminists and suffragettes, this Mr Linton dared to speak out in favour of such nonsense. His speech is re-printed in the section for jokes.’
His eyes fully focused on me now, and he cocked his head. ‘There is an amusing caricature of the two of us, too. Do you wish to see it?’
I cleared my throat. ‘Err… not particularly, no.’
‘I see. Well, then let us relish the rest of this journalistic masterpiece, shall we?’ With a hiss, he dived behind the magazine again.
Please God! Let me die now!
‘Somehow, the impetuous youth managed to enthral the simple-minded people in the crowd. In the end, Mr Linton had to be forcibly removed from the stage to shouts of “Long live suffragism!”.’ Mr Ambrose’s ominous voice reached me from behind the veil of paper. ‘There is little doubt that he is a violent, unstable young man. And as for his employer…’
Please, God! Just kill me right now! It can’t be that difficult! I don’t need anything fancy. One lightning bolt will do!
‘The writer of this article cannot but wonder how Mr Ambrose proposes to run a vast business empire if he cannot even control his own secretary. Also, if Mr Ambrose’s staff is that unstable, what about himself? Are mental difficulties widespread in his circle? This casts a dark shadow of doubt on Mr Ambrose’s abilities and the future of his business.’
Lowering the magazine once more, Rikkard Ambrose raised his eyes to me, and when I saw the expression in their bottomless depths, I had to swallow.
Oops…
Happy Homecoming
Mr Ambrose didn’t say a single word on the coach ride to Dover - and he did it in a very scary way. Nobody could be silent like Mr Ambrose. It was a grand symphony of silence, punctuated with staccato stares and sinister drumrolls of finger flexing. In Dover, he sprang out of the rickety coach like a raven swooping down on his dead prey and stalked off, motioning for me to follow without a word. I did.
We ended up in front of a shop. In the shop windows, I could see displays of trousers and tailcoats. Over the shop, large metal letters proclaimed in cursive script: Harris & White - Quality Tailors for Gentlemen.
‘Well, Mister Linton…’ Mr Ambrose regarded me, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Let’s find you a pair of trousers.’
Let’s just say that what followed wasn’t exactly every lady’s dream of a man buying her pretty clothes. When I left the shop half an hour later, clothed in a tailcoat and baggy trousers, and with three shocked sales assistants staring after us, I was feeling ready to kill. And I already had a victim in mind.
The only problem was… He looked just about as ready for murder as I did.
‘How dare you!’ I spat at him, as soon as we were out of hearing. ‘How could you do that?’
‘You’re right,’ he growled. ‘I can’t believe I paid for those clothes out of my own pocket. But I’ll promise you, the sum will be deducted from your wages.’
‘You…! I wasn’t talking about bloody money! How could you do this to me?’ Tugging at the fabric of the trousers, I took an enraged step towards him. ‘I thought you had finally gotten it through your thick skull that I am a girl!’
‘I know very well what you are! I’m simply doing my very best to ignore the fact - ignore it, and conceal it! If your little speech in front of the Anti-Suffragists was enough to cause such a sensation, do you have any idea what kind of scandal it would be if someone found out that a female is working as my secretary?’
‘I don’t care! How could you put me in these again? After all we’ve been through, how could you do that to me?’
‘I did something to you?’ His voice was as cold and distant as the peak of some lonely mountain. And yet… The mountain was grumbling. It might just turn out to be a volcano. ‘You dare say that to me? You are the one who humiliated me in public!’
‘I didn’t humiliate anyone! I told the truth and fought for justice!’
Before I knew what was happening, he had gripped me by the arms and I was being swept backwards into a dark alley, until I was pressed against a cold brick wall. It was almost as hard as the feel of the body that was suddenly pressing into my front - the body of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. My heartbeat picked up, and not from fear. Not from rage, either. He was so close, every line of his perfect form pressing into me…
Get a grip, Lilly! You’re furious, remember?
‘Suffragism has nothing to do with truth or justice!’ he growled, his strong hands like vices around my arms. ‘Women aren’t fit to vote, or work, or think for themselves! And the sooner you get that through your head, the better!’
‘Men are a pack of arrogant, power-hungry jackals!’