In the Eye of the Storm (Storm and Silence 2)

Ella screamed. It was a high-pitched scream, almost worthy of a prima donna. Then the picture of yours truly slipped out of her fingers, and she fainted, falling back onto my bed. The bed I had been planning to use within the not too distant future!

I heaved a sigh. Really, did nobody in this house know how to give you a proper welcome home?

*~*~**~*~*

Apparently, my aunt did. Only, she had her own ideas of what constituted a ‘proper welcome home’. It seemed that about two minutes after she had found out I was back, she had hurried over to Mrs Fields, the wife of a rich merchant who often did business with Uncle Bufford, and told her some tale of how I had returned home after a long journey abroad. It only took a little skilful prodding to make Mrs Fields suggest: ‘Why, we should give a ball to welcome her back home!’

My aunt reluctantly let herself be persuaded, and before you could say Jack Robinson, the invitations for a surprise ball the very next night had been sent out. A ball! In my honour! Torture like that should be prohibited by law!

‘Don’t you dare try to worm your way out of this,’ my aunt hissed into my ear as she tightened the straps of my corset, caging me in as if she were putting full-body manacles on me. ‘You promised!’

‘I know,’ I wheezed.

That in itself wouldn’t have stopped me. I was really talented at breaking promises I had never meant to keep. But my aunt watched me with the eyes of a hawk and the determination of a starved hyena. If I managed to disappear, it would be a miracle.

‘You will go to this ball, and you will spend your evening smiling and dancing if I have to drag you to it!’

‘Yes, Aunt.’

‘The coach is outside! You get into it right now, and don’t stir from your seat unless I tell you too.’

‘Yes, Aunt.’

‘That goes for you, too,’ my aunt snapped at Ella, who was helping to tie Elsebeth’s laces. ‘I want all of you out there in five minutes. It took a great deal of effort to arrange a ball at such short notice, and I won’t have you being late!’

She rushed out, and I managed, in spite of my suffocatingly tight corset, to bend far enough down to pick up my dress from the bed.

‘Here. Let me help you with that.’ Slender white hands took the dress out of my rounder, tanned ones and slipped it over my head. When my head came free of the linen, I saw Ella, smiling a smile at me that was full of sisterly affection.

So, my little sister had finally forgiven me - ‘I was so worried!’ - and decided that - ‘I thought you were dead!’ - she no longer needed to pelt me with recriminations - ‘You could have given me some warning at least!’ - every single minute of the day, had she? I did a quick calculation in my head. It had taken her nine full hours to forgive me. For her angelic nature, that was the equivalent of a yearlong, festering grudge.

‘You’re talking to me again, I see?’

Ella’s cheeks turned red. The look I had given her wasn’t really that reproving, but Ella blushed at any and every opportunity she got.

‘I never stopped talking to you!’

‘Talking to me without trying to bite my head off, I mean.’

Ella’s blush deepened, and she mumbled something about not knowing what I could possibly mean. With a wink and a sigh, I took her by the arm.

‘We’d better go! If we aren’t in the coach soon, Aunt Brank will have our heads on spikes.’

The coach ride to the ballroom Mrs Fields had rented for the night was quiet and uncomfortable. Being about as miserly as my uncle, her desire to save money only matched by her desire to gain social status, my aunt had rented a coach in which all seven of us would just about fit - if we were stacked on top of each other and holding our breath. By the time we reached our destination, I was already grumbling mutinously.

‘Come on,’ Ella said encouragingly, gently manoeuvring me towards the entrance. ‘Let’s go in. Who knows, it might even be fun.’

They were waiting for us at the door. The moment Ella and I stepped into the ballroom, three figures sprang out at us, barring my way. They were my best friends, Patsy, Flora and Eve. Though from the thunderous expression on Patsy’s brick wall of a face, you might not have guessed the ‘best friends’ part.

‘Where were you?’ she demanded, waving a sausage-thick finger in my face. ‘We don’t see you for seven days, and then, out of the blue, Mrs Fields brings us the invitation to this ball and says it’s to celebrate your safe return! What the devil have you been doing this last week?’

‘Were you off on a Caribbean island, having a romantic adventure with some handsome, dashing hero?’ Flora sighed.

For a moment I was tempted to say ‘No, the island was on the French coast, actually’ - then I remembered that as much as I might want to, I couldn’t tell them anything about what had happened. Besides, even if I did have adventures, they were most certainly not romantic, and Mr Ambrose was neither handsome nor heroic! Not in the least, the blasted, beautiful son of a bachelor!

‘Tell us right now,’ Patsy growled, ‘or I’ll go through the ballroom telling every single gentleman here what a wonderful dancing partner and charming young lady you are!’

‘You wouldn’t!’