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

‘Don‘t get above yourself, Mr Linton. I just do not think you have the brains to find your way home alone.’

The arrogant…! Blast him! I could believe him, too, considering the way he was looking at me.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you back to Empire House, Sir?’ I said in the sweetest tone I could manage. ‘Who knows, maybe you could use my help squeezing your head through the door, considering how big it has grown.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ He didn’t even bat an eyelid. Curse him! Could nothing ruffle that son of a bachelor?

When we finally pulled up in front of my aunt and uncle’s house, the coachman jumped off to open the door for me, but I was outside before his feet had even touched the ground.

‘Do you have any luggage, Sir?’ he asked, with a polite bow. ‘Should I help you carry it in?’

‘That all sank in the Channel,’ I informed him. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

Leaving a startled coachman behind, I started towards the door in the garden wall and the garden shed beyond, where I still had a secret stash of women’s clothes tucked away. But after only a few paces, I stopped, half turned, and sent Mr Ambrose a bright smile.

‘Looking forward to seeing you at work on Monday, Sir.’

He acted as if I weren’t there. Clapping his hands, he motioned for the coachman to get back to work. Moving faster than should be allowed for a man who didn’t have to work under the threat of slavery, the coachman jumped back up on the box and cracked his whip.

‘Gee up!’

The horses darted forward and the coach was gone, a black streak that grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Only when it was already turning around a corner did I start to wonder:

Mr Ambrose had dropped me off in front of my house. But… how the hell had he known where my house was? I had certainly never told him! And if he knew my aunt or any of my sisters well enough to know where they lived, I’d eat my corset! He and my uncle might know each other from the annual meeting of the London Misers’ Association, but I doubted it. My uncle never left his four walls except to go to work, and neither did Mr Ambrose.

So, that still left the question: how the hell did he know?

For a few moments I looked after the coach, biting my lower lip in thought. Then I shrugged, and turned back to the house. The Lord might move in mysterious ways - but he had nothing on Mr Ambrose in that department.

It took no time at all switching clothes. Ever since I had to do it on a sinking ship to save myself from drowning, I had gotten a lot quicker at lacing up a corset. Everything has its bright side, I suppose. Leaving the changing room (alias the garden shed), I made my way towards the back door and to my delight found it unlocked.

Huzzah! Fortune was smiling on me! Maybe I would be able to sneak up to my room and pretend as if nothing had happened. At least until the next morning.

I was about halfway up the stairs when a voice came like a whip crack from behind me.

‘Lillian!’

Wincing, I stopped in my tracks. Apparently, fortune wasn’t really smiling on me. It was just grimacing. Slowly, I turned and came face to face with Hester Mahulda Brank, my beloved aunt.

All right, the ‘beloved’ part might have been a lie. But judging by the death-glare she was shooting up the stairs at me out of those small, sharp eyes of hers set into her vulture’s face, I wasn’t particularly beloved by her either. More bedespised, if there was such a word.

‘Lillian Linton! Tell me this isn’t you, showing your face here after… after…’

‘This isn’t me showing my face here,’ I assured her. ‘It’s not actually me at all. It’s just a phantasm, some kind of ghostly image. So… why don’t you carry on with whatever you were doing and let this phantasm go to bed? It is a really tired phantasm.’

‘It is you! Nobody else would dare talk to me like that!’

Why was everybody pretending to recognize me by my insolence? First Mr Ambrose, and now her! It was really unfair! In reality, I was a quite nice, well-behaved, soft-spoken young lady. Yes, I bloody well was!

My aunt had started moving, stalking up the stairs towards me, her feather duster clutched in her right hand like a sword.

‘You… you… ungrateful little brat! You disappear for over a week, and then you simply waltz back in here as if nothing had happened? Is that your thanks for the care I took of you all those years?’

You mean torturing me with etiquette lessons while you tried to marry me off to the first rich bachelor available? Yes, thanks so much for that!

But not even I was brave enough to speak that thought aloud.

‘One week! One entire week!’ She was nearly level with me now. I started to retreat, peering with trepidation at the feather duster in her fist. These things looked innocent enough, but who knew, maybe hers had a concealed blade or hidden spikes or something. I wouldn’t put it past her. ‘One week you disappear without a word! Do you have any idea how-’