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‘No you won’t! Not when I tell my family what you dared to say to me!’
‘Oh really?’ His eyebrow wandered up another inch. ‘I have witnessed how very, um… dear you are to your aunt. Whom do you think she will believe? Bright, brilliant young Lieutenant Ellingham or a niece who can’t even behave herself properly at her first ball?’
He raised his hat to me and made a slight, mocking bow.
‘Good day to you, Miss Linton. I look forward to seeing you again.’
And he walked away.
Blast! If only he hadn’t vanished that quickly! I might have punched him! Or bitten him! Or…
All right. I admit it. The thoughts that ran through my head as I walked through the streets of London, towards home, weren’t the most romantic ones for a girl to whom a man had just as good as proposed. But then, it hadn’t been the most romantic quasi-proposal. In fact, even I, who was definitely not an expert on quasi-proposals, could say that it had been about as romantic as a bucket of vomit.
Which, by the way, was also a very fitting description of my suitor.
‘Bloody bastard! Oh, the next time I see him, I’ll… I’ll…’
I couldn’t even find the words. Maybe I would have to sneak into the room where Mr Ambrose was holding Simmons, to get some inspiration on torture.
‘Something spiky… with wicked screws, maybe!’
Only when I got home and saw my aunt’s delighted harpy-smile as she looked at the latest flowers Lieutenant Ellingham had sent did I fully realize the son of a bachelor had been right.
Bugger! She really expects me to marry him!
A shiver ran down my back when I also realized that I was not in a good position to do anything against it. I was still under age. My legal guardians could dispose of me however they wished - and my aunt was very efficient in the disposal of rags, hen droppings, penniless relatives and other garbage.
Even were I already an adult, what could I do? I was dependent on others to pay for the food I ate, the bed I slept in and the roof over my head. It was those people who ruled my life. I had no money of my own.
Or at least, the thought shot through my head, that was true until very recently.
‘Thank the Lord!’ I breathed.
Never before had I been so glad that I had run into a certain stone-faced businessman that day on the way to the polling station. Never had I been so glad that I had taken the leap towards my own freedom. And never ever had I been so grateful towards Mr Ambrose. He could have turned me away. In fact, there had probably been nothing he wanted to do more. Yet instead he had kept his word and given me a chance.
My fingers travelled into the folds of my petticoats where the ring of keys was artfully concealed. More than that: he had given me his trust.
And soon, hopefully, he would give me some money. I just had to hold out until then.
Head held high, I started up the porch stairs, past my aunt, ignoring her chattering. Now that my harrowing encounter with the lieutenant was over, my exhaustion returned with renewed force. I needed to lie down, and quickly, or I would just keel over and take a nap on the floor.
Up in my room, Ella was waiting for me with a half-anxious, half-happy expression on her face. I walked past her and let myself fall face-downward onto my mattress, not caring about the protesting squeak from my hoop skirt.
‘So…’ I heard Ella’s hesitant voice from behind me, ‘did you have a nice walk with Lieutenant Ellingham?’
‘No,’ I groaned into my pillow.
There was a pause. Then:
‘Um… this might be a silly question… but is he the young man you went to meet the other day? The one you have feelings for?’
With a gargantuan effort, I raised my head from my pillow and turned to stare at my little sister.
‘You’re absolutely right.’
‘Oh!’ Ella’s expression brightened.
I let my head slump back onto the pillow. ‘That was a silly question.’
‘Ah.’ Her face fell again.
‘Honestly, Ella! Me and that blighter? How could you possibly think I have any feelings for him whatsoever, apart from abject horror and disgust?’
‘He wasn’t that bad,’ Ella tried to console me. ‘Although I must admit… I was very frightened by the way he treated those people and that poor grey animal. What did he call it again? An elephont?’
‘Elephant,’ I corrected.
‘Exactly.’ Ella shook her head sadly. ‘I mean, did he have to stab it? He could have tried talking to it or petting it. Grandmother’s chickens always let me pet them when I visit, and they’re perfectly friendly if you show them some affection.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I moaned and rolled over on my side to face her. ‘Do not let the poor elephant’s plight torture your heart. There was no fight in India, ergo there was no elephant and no stabbing in the belly.’
‘What?’ A frown appeared on Ella’s lovely forehead. ‘But Lieutenant Ellingham said…’
I gave a sigh. ‘I will tell you a great secret, Ella, if you promise not to tell anybody.’
‘Oh… of course!’
‘Not everything a man says to a woman must necessarily be true.’
I sank deeper into my pillow, snuggling into the soft down feathers. I knew it would take Ella a while to adjust to the concept of such a thing as a dishonourable or lying man - certainly enough time for me to get a nap. So I slowly drifted off into the realm of Morpheus, where I happily chased thieves over rooftops, cut onions into slices, and didn’t have to worry about catastrophes such as an impending engagement to the biggest bastard of London.
My eyes fluttered open. The first thing I saw was Ella, who was sitting beside me on the bed, staring down at her fingers in deep contemplation. When she noticed I was awake, she looked at me.
‘You mean… you mean the lieutenant was lying?’
I sneaked a glance at the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Two hours and twenty-six minutes. Not bad.
‘Exactly. You’ve figured it out. Bravo!’
‘But… that’s horrible!’
I shrugged. ‘Well, depends how you look at it. Lying can be quite useful sometimes, you know. For instance when there’s something going on in your life you don't want anybody to know.’
Ella’s cheeks turned as red as a ripe tomato. I had been thinking of my new occupation when speaking, but it was clear that her thoughts were on something very different, or rather somebody.