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I chomped down on my potato a bit too hard. Ruddy hell! Could nothing banish that man from my thoughts?
‘W-will Sir Philip be calling today?’
The hesitant voice was Ella's. And it answered my question. Yes, something could banish Mr Ambrose from my mind, if only temporarily: my concern for my little sister.
‘I do not think so,’ my aunt sighed.
Good.
‘But,’ she added, brightening, ‘we’ll all see him at the ball tonight, of course.’
Oh. Bad. Very bad.
‘Ball?’ What little colour there was in Ella’s face disappeared.
‘Oh yes. Didn’t I mention it? Another invitation arrived a few days ago. We are all to go to another ball at Lady Metcalf's, and Sir Philip has kindly agreed to accompany us.’ She winked at Ella in so suggestive a way that a blind possum couldn’t have failed to notice the message.
Ella went from white to translucent.
‘How… nice of him.’
I stabbed my fork into the next potato, imagining it to be Sir Philip’s head.
‘We are all invited?’ I asked. ‘Me, too?’
My aunt looked at me in surprise. ‘Yes, of course, but… do you want to come? I thought I would have to drag you there as usual.’
‘Trust me, madam,’ I told her, and bit down on my potato, severing it in the middle. ‘I want to come.’
The mist sparkled in the early morning sunlight in all the streets of London. It parted before me as the ocean before the bow of a battleship as I marched towards Leadenhall Street. In my mind I was going over things I could do to Sir Philip Wilkins if he didn’t leave my little sister alone. Boiling alive was quite high up on the list.
This ball might be my last chance. Things were coming to a head, I could feel it! Considering all Wilkins had said to me the last time we had met, it wouldn’t surprise me if he intended to propose to Ella tonight. That could never happen, I knew. She would not have the courage to refuse him.
Sweet, mad, little creature! She had the courage to offer to face down a drunken rake for my sake, but not the courage to stand up for the wishes of her own heart. If only Wilkins had fallen in love with me, instead! He would be in Inverness by now, on his way to charter a ship to the polar regions, in the hope of getting as far away from my wrath as possible.
I thought I would never be able to stop fretting about Ella. Yet the closer I drew to Leadenhall Street, the more thoughts of her and Wilkins were replaced by thoughts of another. Someone beside whom they seemed to pale into insignificance. Someone made of granite, iron and money. Soon I could do nothing but obsess over one question:
What the dickens am I supposed to say to him? How should I react to him after what has happened?
But no, I reminded myself. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. Especially nothing that involved lips touching. It had all just been in my imagination. So I wouldn’t need to say anything.
But…
What if he said something?
What if he started to talk about last night, and it turned out that all I remembered hadn’t been some insane, alcohol-induced dream but, in fact, reality?
The world about me seemed to shiver and shimmer like a mirage. All of a sudden, I felt as if reality were a dream and dreams reality. What if… just hypothetically speaking of course… Mr Ambrose really did… want me in some way? What would I do if he indicated his intentions?
I really did not know. I had no idea what I would do.
And that was disturbing.
In the past I had always known what to do with a man who had declared his intentions and wanted to make me his. In most cases, a lecture on suffragism or a good, long dance during which I used his feet for target practice with my heels was sufficient to send the gentleman running. In tougher cases, a few good whacks with the parasol usually solved the problem. For some reason, though, I didn’t think this would work as well on Mr Ambrose. Nor, I discovered to my horror, would I be likely to try.
What was wrong with me?
I didn’t… it wasn’t possible that I… no! I could never feel anything like that. Never, ever. Not for any man, especially not this one.
And besides, I didn’t have time for anything like that. I was completely focused on forging an independent life for myself. Yes, I was totally concentrated and not in the least bit distracted.
Suddenly, the mist parted, and in front of me loomed the giant facade of Empire House.
Hell’s Whiskers! How did I get here?
Confused, I looked around and saw the familiar houses of Leadenhall Street. Had I walked all this way without noticing?
But I was much too focused for that, surely.
Ha, ha, ha. You are?
Quickly, I made my way up to the front door and past Sallow-face in the entrance hall. He still gave me suspicious looks whenever I passed by, and I didn’t like to subject myself to his scrutiny for too long, particularly when I was not at my best, performance-wise.
I climbed up the stairs.
They were very long stairs. I had noticed that already the first time I had climbed up to the higher realms of Empire House, but it impressed itself more particularly on my mind today. There were a lot of steps. And with every step, the question repeated itself:
What is he going to say?
What is he going to say?
What the bloody hell is he going to say?
By the time I had reached the upper landing, my head was ringing with the question. I hardly mumbled a ‘Good morning’ at Mr Stone in passing before I sneaked into my office and fled behind my desk. I wouldn’t go to him. If he wanted to say anything, he would have to come to me. And I wanted some solid protection between us when, or rather if, he did.
I didn’t have to wait long.
After only a few moments, I heard movement on the other side of the wall and tensed. My eyes snapped to the door that separated my office from that of Mr Ambrose.
I heard footsteps approach it from beyond. Sharp, hard footsteps. Footsteps with which I was, by now, very familiar.
Although I didn’t want it to, although I screamed at it to behave normally, screamed that there was nothing to be excited about, the beat of my heart picked up. The footsteps came closer and closer, finally stopping right in front of the separating door.
There was a moment of silence, then a faint jingling as of coins or keys - then the footsteps turned and retreated back to where they had come from. A chair scraped across the door in the neighbouring room.