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‘The world is a heavy thing to bear,’ I told him, ‘whether at the centre or elsewhere. Why won’t you let someone help you?’
Without waiting for a reply, I turned, leaving him behind.
The longer the day stretched, the more fantastic my imaginings became. In my mind, the centre of the world became the name of a priceless diamond, an heirloom of the noble house Mr Ambrose was a member of, though he refused to acknowledge it. A moment later, it turned into the title of an ancient script that revealed the lost location of Atlantis. In the next moment, it turned into Buckingham Palace, centre of the British Empire and home of its Queen, and maybe a plan to prevent her assassination.
Though, in the latter case, I couldn’t see Mr Ambrose risking his own life willingly. Not unless there was a healthy reward involved, or… or unless he had a secret affair with the Queen, and she was the writer of the pink letters…
It was probably better that, at this point, another plink from a tube message distracted me from my own thoughts. I wasn’t far away from imagining the missing file to contain a magical portal to Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Or, more likely, to the seventh circle of hell.
The hours flew by as I worked ceaselessly, and thought ceaselessly, always asking: What will happen? What will he do? What is the centre of the world?
I didn’t find any answers. The hours grew longer and turned into days. The closer the deadline came, the more insane became Mr Ambrose’s idea of an appropriate workload. Working seemed to be his way of dealing with anxiety - if he truly was anxious. He seemed just as cool and collected as ever. Maybe it was simply his way of earning more money.
Maybe…
On the last day before the great day, I sat at my desk and gazed out through the window over the city of London. The sun was just sinking beyond the horizon, flooding the city with blood-red light, half-obscured by the black smoke that rose from thousands of chimneys. It seemed like an omen to me. Darkness and blood.
Quickly, I rose from my chair and went to Mr Ambrose’s door. He hadn’t called for a new file yet, in fact, he’d been suspiciously undemanding the last few minutes, but I knew he was still in there. If he had left, I would have heard the keys in the lock.
After a second of hesitation, I raised my hand and knocked.
‘Mr Ambrose?’
No answer.
‘Mr Ambrose, I know you’re still in there!’
Silence.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir, please, open up. I want to talk to you again. Maybe I can convince you! If you’d let me help you…’
I heard a plink from my desk.
Turning, I saw another message had arrived. Carefully, I opened the container and read:
No. Go! Tomorrow, you can remain at home. I will not require your services.
Tomorrow - when he would put his plan into action and move against Dalgliesh. I knocked again.
‘Mr Ambrose? Mr Ambrose, please!’
Silence. A tomb full of silence.
Well, if he wanted to ignore me, fine. He wasn’t the only one who had secret plans for tomorrow!
Trapped
I woke up and thought: The day has come.
Today Mr Ambrose would go to number 97 East India Dock Road, and…
An excited shiver went through me. I didn’t really know what exactly he was going to do - but I didn’t think it would be very legal.
It’ll be exciting, though.
Oh yes. It definitely would be exciting. And I was supposed to stay home like a proper little lady and do nothing! My hands gripped the sheets tightly, balling into fists. Quickly, I looked around. It was still very early in the morning, probably around six a.m. The sun was just starting to peek over the roofs of the houses, outside. Its rays fell on Ella, who lay in her bed, sound asleep, with a smile on her face.
Even in my current mood, I wasn’t totally unaffected by my little sister’s happy smile. But it could not soothe me for long. My thoughts returned to him all too soon.
How dare he exclude me? Hadn’t I proved my worth, earned the right to have his respect? It was I who had discovered Dalgliesh’s base, after all!
Admittedly, I had done it while I was as drunk as a lord, and rather accidentally, but still, I had done it. He owed it to me to take me along on this. When I thought of him, facing a host of heavily armed soldiers alone, delving into the dark to recover the mysterious file that was so all-important for reasons which I still did not understand, I wanted to scream in frustration.
Of course I didn’t, because it would have woken Ella up. Instead, I punched my pillow, again wishing it had a greater resemblance to Mr Ambrose’s head.
I won’t! I won’t! I won’t allow him to do this!
Suddenly, having decided what I was going to do, I slid out of bed and towards the window. I didn’t bother putting on my dress. Once I reached the shed, I was going to exchange it for trousers and a shirt in any case. If somebody saw me running through the garden in my pink lace nightgown with little embroidered songbirds, I would just have to murder that person before they could spread the word.
I had never dressed that fast in my entire life. Five minutes later, I was striding down the street, on my way to Empire House. There probably was no reason to hurry - if Mr Ambrose had any sense in that hard head of his, he wouldn’t take action until nightfall. Still, the early worm catches the bird, or however the saying goes.
When I reached Empire House about a quarter of an hour later, I saw that arriving early had been a good idea: a familiar chaise, drawn by a shabby beast of a grey horse, was standing in front of the main entrance. Knowing that I would have to get past the grey monster, I approached carefully. It eyed me, with what I could only suppose was a mix of interest and appetite.
I raised a cautioning finger.
‘If you bite me, I’ll bite back,’ I told him. Nobody would be able to say I didn’t warn him.
The horse snorted and turned its head away derisively.
Quickly, I stole past the beast and into the main hall. It was completely deserted. Nobody was in sight. The gigantic man-made cave of Mammon was as silent as its master. My steps echoed from the wall as I hurried across the floor and towards the steps, wondering why he was going this early. Did he still have preparations to make?
Maybe he simply wants to avoid you. Isn’t that nice?
On reaching the upper landing, I heard familiar voices from the hallway. One was especially familiar.
‘…quicker, Karim! We have places to be.’