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Personally, I couldn’t see what was so wild about it. From the few pictures I had seen, it was a country just like any other, with trees, rivers, mountains and people.
Though, now that I thought about it, most of the people in the pictures I had seen had carried guns.
Just like the guards at Lord Dalgliesh’s headquarters.
Mr Ambrose couldn’t be planning to do what I was thinking he was planning to do, could he?
Really? Not even for the centre of the world?
It was about seven pm when the messages stopped coming though the pneumatic tube. Some minutes later, I heard keys rustling, and a slightly confused-looking Mr Stone unlocked the door to my office.
‘Um… Mr Linton? Mr Ambrose instructed me to “let the Ifrit out of the dungeon”, as he put it. Was he referring to you?’
Had I been in a better mood, I might have grinned. But now, only a scowl managed to make its way onto my face.
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ Mr Stone cleared his throat. ‘Um… excuse me, but I still don't quite see what his words actually mean. Could you explain, perhaps?’
‘No!’
‘Oh. Very well, then… I suppose I’d better pack my things and go. Until tomorrow, Mr Linton.’
Grumbling a response, I rushed past him and down the hallway. Maybe, just maybe, I could still catch Mr Ambrose before he left the building. I raced down and into the main hall at breakneck speed. Just as I stormed into the giant stone monument that was the entrance hall of Empire House, I saw the end of a black tailcoat disappearing through the front door.
‘Wait!’ I shouted, and all eyes turned towards me as I ran across the hall. Over the slap of my footsteps on the polished stone floor I could hear the whispered words ‘secretary’ and ‘new’ and ‘replacement’ echoing from all around me.
Wait, I wanted to shout again. What about the centre of the world? What is it? Where is it? How can it be on a piece of paper?
But I knew better than to speak those words aloud. I might not know what the ‘centre of the world’ was - but I knew the words had power. If I let them become common knowledge, I was as good as dead. With a last burst of effort, I threw myself after him. He would not escape me! He would tell me everything! Finally, I was at the door and, pushing it open, jumped outside - only to see a chaise, drawn by a beastly grey horse, disappearing in the distance.
I uttered some very unladylike words.
But there was nothing to be done. For now, he was gone. And gone with him was the chance to convince him to explain his mysterious words, the chance to convince him to let me go with him. For now, I could do nothing.
But, I had to remember, I still had three days to convince him to let me in on the secret, and to make me part of his plans. There was another occasion coming for which the timetable was slightly more pressing.
Turning the other way, I started down the street, towards home.
Another centre of my world…
As soon as I turned into our street, I could see that the preparations for the ball were in full flow. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I could hear, rather than see.
‘Faster, faster, girls, the carriage will be here in less than an hour! What are you thinking, still running around only half-dressed? What if he should happen to arrive early? Maria, your hair looks like a haystack! Take it down again. No, here, let me. Someone fetch me a comb! And where in heaven’s name is Lillian?’
Quickly, I glanced around, to see whether any of the neighbours were around to hear. None of them were outside, but my aunt’s tirade was audible out here in the street, with all the doors and windows closed. What did a few additional walls mean to a shriek as impressive as hers?
‘Leadfield! Go and look for Lilly, and bring her to me as quickly as your feet can carry you!’
Good. That meant I had plenty of time.
‘And bring Ella, too, if you can find her. What she is thinking…’
Ella wasn’t with them? My breathing quickened, and I hastened my steps. Soon I was past the front entrance and at the door to the back garden. Unlocking it and slipping through, I made my way to the garden shed and disappeared into the shelter of its darkness.
I was probably less than presentable when I did up the laces of my dress, but since I would take it off and exchange it for my makeshift ball gown as soon as I was in the house, I didn’t think much of the fact. I was too concerned about the fact that my aunt hadn’t been able to find Ella.
Dear God! She didn’t… she couldn’t just…?
No! Not without saying goodbye to me!
Don’t jump to conclusions, I told myself. It doesn't have to mean the worst.
The worst.
What I had feared all along.
That she had run away.
In a dash, I crossed the last bit of distance to the door and pushed it open.
No. It didn’t have to mean she had run away. She could be in a part of the house they hadn’t thought to look in, or she could be on a walk, or she…
…could be hurrying across the garden right in front of me!
There she was! Even in the darkness, that white gown and golden hair were unmistakable!
Like a flash, I was back inside the shed, the door open only a crack now, just enough to allow me to see through. There could be only one reason why Ella would visit the garden at this hour, only one person she could have come to see.
As if my thinking of him had conjured him up, Edmund appeared from between the bushes on the other side of the fence. Ella gave a little cry and hurried towards him. She was already in her ball gown and not caring a bit if she got grass stains on it. I had to admit, this was real love. Or at least a very convincing imitation.
‘Ella, my love!’
‘Edmund, my love!’
They ran towards each other as if they wanted to jump into each other’s arms. Fortunately, they remembered the fence in time and didn’t crack their skulls.
Instead, they just clasped hands. A much wiser policy.
‘Oh, Ella, my love, is it true what I have heard?’
‘I don't know. What have you heard, my love?’
‘That there is to be another ball at Lady Metcalf’s this evening, and that Sir Wilkins is taking you. I heard something of that mentioned by Mrs Richardson, and now I hear that your house is busy…’
Busy. What a very diplomatic way to describe my aunt’s forceful tones.