Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

Ella apparently knew, though. She pulled him forward again, moulding her lips to his as if she had been doing nothing her whole life except seducing the sons of piano tuners. Maybe she had? What did I know? I should have paid more attention when we were younger to what she was up to when she was off alone.

‘Ella! Whatmmmpff…’

Edmund shut up then, relaxing against her. It apparently was becoming clear to him what exactly Ella was doing here, and that she wasn’t planning to stop any time soon. Slowly, the two of them sank to the ground, until Edm

und was nothing more than a prone body, helpless under Ella’s ravenous lips.

I had to admit, I was thoroughly impressed. This was a side to my little sister I hadn’t seen before, and I liked it. I liked it a lot. This was much more fun to watch than the gooey ‘I love you’s I normally was subjected to. Smiling, I sat Mr Metal against a tree and sank down onto the grass for a nice, long, late-night entertainment.

*~*~**~*~*

I blame Ella. I blame her completely and absolutely. If she hadn’t spent hours out in the garden doing lip-gymnastics with the piano tuner’s son, obligating me to watch out for her, I might not have been as tired the next morning. And if I hadn’t been tired the next morning, I might have been awake enough to withstand my aunt’s attack.

‘Up! Up with you! Out of bed! The early bird gets the worm! Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise!’

‘I’m not a bird!’ I moaned, pulling the pillow over my head. ‘And I’m certainly no man!’

‘No, you remind me more of the worm, to be honest. But that can’t be helped. Out of bed, Lillian!’

Pillow and covers were stolen from me with one cruel, powerful tug, and I was left helpless and undefended. Moaning, I raised my hands to shield my eyes from the stabbing spears of morning sunlight.

‘Can’t I sleep a little bit longer?’

‘No! Get out of bed, now! And get dressed! We have a visitor coming for breakfast. Someone I want you to meet.’

If I had been any more awake than a marmot in hibernation, this comment would have made me instantly suspicious. But alas, I was far too marmotty. I was so marmotty that I didn’t even realise that marmotty isn’t really a word. With another moan, I staggered out of bed, and, after trying several times to slip into the bedside lamp, I found my dress and slipped into it instead. By the time I had struggled into my clothes, I had managed to get my eyes at least half open.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead!’ Ella skipped into the room, her cheeks rosy, her eyes gleaming with life. ‘Isn’t it a wonderful morning?’

I eyed her bright smile grumpily. ‘I suppose that depends on the kind of night you had.’

‘I had a wonderful night, Lill! Slept the whole night through, and had the most wonderful dreams.’

‘I’m sure you did. Now, would you please help me button up this darn dress? I can’t reach all the way to the back.’

Five minutes later, after Ella had helped straighten me out and splashed my face with cold water to keep me from starting to snore, we started downstairs towards the dining room. I was feeling moderately more awake and exponentially more worried.

‘Ella?’

‘Yes, Lill?’ she sighed, her eyes gazing dreamily off into the distance.

‘Do you know who it is that Aunt Brank has invited for breakfast?’

‘No idea,’ she trilled, dancing ahead of me, twirling her arms. ‘Oh Lill! Isn’t this a wonderful day? Simply extraordinarily beautifully perfect?’

I wasn’t too sure about that. Aunt Brank had invited someone for breakfast. And, considering my aunt’s preferences, this could only mean one thing: a you-know-what!

Please! I prayed. Please, let me be wrong! Let it be anything but a you-know-what! Anything else!

The door to the dining room opened, and Ella danced in, still humming a joyful melody. I followed, hackles raised. But when I saw him, it still nearly knocked me off my feet.

He was small.

He was balding.

He had a round, cheerful face and a broad smile. In other words: he was the incarnation of the devil.

‘Ah, there you are, girls.’ My aunt, a vulturous expression on her face, rose and pointed to the man sitting beside her, next to an empty chair clearly reserved for me. ‘Lilly, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Mr Fitzgerald, this is my niece, Lillian Linton.’