Hunting for Silence by Robert Thier

Plots within Plots

Mr Ambrose reacted faster than the eye could blink. In the fraction of a second, he had twisted out of Lord Dalgliesh’s grip, and his hand was on his revolver, ready to draw. I, unfortunately, was a little bit farther behind, my hand furiously rummaging around for my weapon in the folds of my dress. Bloody hell, I should have worn trousers and damn the consequences!

‘No need for weapons, Lord Ambrose,’ Lord Dalgliesh said, his eyes glittering. ‘I’m not here to kill you.’

A muscle in Mr Ambrose’s jaw twitched at the sound of the title he hated, the heritage he despised. ‘Now why do I find that difficult to believe?’

‘Oh, I will destroy you. Just not here. Not tonight.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Dalgliesh took a step closer, his steel-blue eyes gleaming in the darkness. Mr Ambrose glared back, the air between them freezing. If the staring contest between Mr Ambrose and Minister Guizot had been bad, this was on a totally different level. Mr Ambrose and the minister had merely been testing their mettle. These two were testing their hatred. And there was lots of it to go around.

‘I’m warning you,’ Dalgliesh whispered. ‘Leave Paris. Leave now—or you won’t like the consequences.’

‘You are warning me?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was soft. Soft of as the footfalls of a Siberian tiger on fresh snow as it stalked its prey. ‘Have you forgotten who it was who sabotaged my business, who put my people at risk?’ He took a step forward. ‘I’m not going to warn you, Dalgliesh. I’ve done that before, with little result. The time for warnings is past. Now it’s time for war!’

His hand moved in a flash. There was bang, and I jumped forward, expecting to see a bloody hole in Lord Dalgliesh’s waistcoat—but there was nothing. Mr Ambrose’s smoking revolver was pointing in a totally different direction.

‘Arrrh!’

My eyes swivelled towards the noise, and I saw a dark shape drop from a roof, in the direction Mr Ambrose had aimed. It crashed onto a cart of cabbages parked in the street and writhed, cursing loudly. A rifle fell from its hand, clattering to the ground.

‘Do not,’ Mr Ambrose told His Lordship, his smoking revolver still out in the open, ‘try that again. Next time, I’ll shoot to kill. And not just your henchman.’ He extended his hand to me. ‘Miss Linton?’

I quickly put my hand in his, hoping nobody would notice I’d just pulled it out of my knickers, still in search of the missing gun.

‘Let’s go.’

‘Yes.’

We slowly moved away down the street, feeling Lord Dalgliesh’s eyes on us the whole way until, finally, the shadows swallowed us.

The nocturnal streets were extremely lively, even by Parisian standards. Everywhere, people chattered excitedly, gesticulating with both hands, and sometimes both feet. I didn’t understand a word of what was going on, but I didn’t really need to. It was all too clear what was happening. The news of the assassination attempt was making the rounds. People were burning to know who the dangerous revolutionary was who had dared to take a shot at the king.

Not long after, we reached Mr Ambrose’s opera house, and the door was opened by an exuberant dangerous revolutionary.

‘Sat was the most fun I’ve ‘ad in years!’ Claudette exclaimed, tearing the revolutionary hat with the tricolour[35] from her head. ‘Sacre bleu! I should ‘ave done somesin’ like sis ages ago.’

I nodded gravely. ‘Yes, because killing kings is so much fun. Particularly the executions afterward are said to be fascinating.’

‘Oh, shut up and come ‘ere, you!’ Grabbing me, she pulled me in for a crushing hug. ‘Everysin’ went all right, oui? That detestable man who owns se oser opera ‘ouse got his comeuppance?’

‘Yes, he did. But how do you know he’s detestable?’

‘’e did not ‘ire me, of course. Sat’s ‘ow.’ She gave me a look as if that should have been obvious. ‘Instead, ‘e ‘ired that dreadful Louise Blanche. I can shatter glasses with my beautiful voice. She only shatters eardrums with ‘ers. Pfoui! Someone wis such bad taste does not deserve to own a temple of se arts. I wish I ‘ad aimed at ‘im.’

‘You do know that the gun wasn’t actually loaded, right? There was just gunpowder inside.’

Grinning, she slid a hand into her pocket and, when she pulled it out again, displayed several shiny metal objects. It took me a moment to realize what they were.

‘Claudette!’

‘A lady should always be prepared, n’est-ce pas?’ She patted my shoulder. ‘No need to worry, ma petite. I did not use sem.’

‘I did sort of deduce that from the live king I just said goodbye to.’

‘Are you quite finished?’ came a familiar voice from behind me. When I first met him, his impatient tone would have riled me to snap back. But now I only could think about what he might be impatient for. Of what was still awaiting me tonight. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

‘Yes, Sir!’

‘Adequate. Claudette, I shall await a full report in the morning.’

And with that, he took me by the arm and swept past the prima donna turned hobby assassin, towards the stairs. Stairs that led up to my room.

‘You know,’ I sighed, leaning against him, ‘it was fun, but I’m glad it’s over.’

It wasn’t until we were halfway up the stairs that he replied.

‘I’m not sure it is.’

I stiffened. ‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Remember how Dalgliesh warned us away?’

‘It would be hard to forget.’

‘Why would he do that? If his plans had all failed and his business in Paris was finished, why would he want us out of the way?’

His words sent a shiver down my back. They made far too much sense for my liking. I would have to think about them.

But not tonight. Tonight was for reserved for other matters. I had decided it was past time I had a little chat with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. There were things we needed to talk about.

Pushing open the door, he stepped into the room, me at his side. The moonlight fell in through the big windows and illuminated the little cot that had been my nocturnal nest ever since my arrival in Paris. In silent agreement we approached and sank onto the mattress. For a long time we just sat like that, leaning into each other and gazing out across the moonlit city of Paris. Finally, our eyes met.

My mouth felt dry. How on earth was I going to say what I had to say? How?

I cleared my throat. ‘We make a pretty good team, don’t we?’

‘Indeed we do, Miss Linton.’

Cautiously my hand reached out to touch his, and I licked my lips.

‘And with that in mind…’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve thought some more about what you said. You know, about finding a compromise?’

His left little finger twitched.

Ah. So he has thought about it, too. Onward, Lilly! Do it! Tell him!

Taking a deep breath, I turned towards fully, raised my chin and said:

‘I’ll marry you.’

His mouth dropped open.

‘Y-you will?’

It was the first time I had ever heard Rikkard Ambrose stutter. The first and probably the last. He reached out towards me—but then his hands stopped in mid-air, and his eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Wait a moment. This is what you consider a “compromise”? Not that I object, mind you, but what about your misgivings in regard to certain parts of the marriage vow? If we marry, you will have to swear to obey me in front of a priest and an entire church full of witnesses. There is no way around that.’

‘Oh, I know.’ I beamed. ‘I’ve found a solution.’

‘You have?’

I nodded proudly. ‘I’ll swear to always obey your orders,’ I promised, ‘if you swear to never to give me any.’

He stared at me for a long, hard moment of utter silence. It was impossible to read the emotion in his dark eyes.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. Why not?’

Another moment of silence.

Then he suddenly grabbed me. Before I knew what was happening, he had pulled me into a vice-tight embrace.

‘You’re mad!’ he growled, crushing me against him.

‘I know,’ I wheezed.

‘I love you.’

One corner of my mouth curled up in perfect bliss. ‘I know that, too. So…do we have a deal?’

His grip tightened until I couldn’t breathe, and didn’t mind a bit.

‘My little ifrit,’ he murmured. ‘Mine. Forever.’

That was answer enough for me.

*~*~**~*~*

The French Ministry of Foreign Affairs was located in a rather cramped, drab little building for such a lofty institution. Mr Ambrose, Karim and I—in my male persona, with my gun in easy reach, just in case—approached the door, and as soon as he spotted us, the uniformed man at the door saluted and indicated that we should follow him.

‘Be careful,’ Mr Ambrose warned in a low tone. ‘I do not believe Guizot considers us a threat, but he is a powerful man, and if he does…’

He didn’t finish the sentence. Probably because he realized he’d just committed the grievous sin of admitting out loud in the presence of witnesses that he cared. Inside, I was beaming. Outwardly, I simply squeezed his hand.

‘Don’t worry. I certainly don’t.’

And I didn’t. I didn’t care about Guizot. I didn’t care about Dalgliesh. I wouldn’t have cared if there were fifty powerful maniacs out to get us. Something had shifted. Something had changed. I was no longer alone. Alone, I’d taken on the world. Together, we’d take the world. Together, there was nothing we couldn’t accomplish.

Besides, I thought with a smile at the sound of familiar heavy footsteps behind me, I doubt anybody is really dangerous in comparison as long as a certain bearded someone is around.

‘Monsieur Ambrose? Suivez-moi, s’il vous plaît.’

The uniformed doorman handed us over to a servant in livery, who led us through a labyrinth of narrow corridors until we finally reached a dark wooden door with Guizot’s name on it. The servant knocked.

‘Venez!’

The door swung opened, revealing the foreign minister behind a desk on which high stacks of paper were arranged in meticulously precise order. Every other surface seemed to be filled as well, with documents and memorandums, pens and pencils, maps and notes, and any other weapon a bureaucrat and diplomat could think of. Careful not to nudge anything over, he rose and bowed in greeting.

‘Monsieur Ambrose. What a pleasure to see you again. Please excuse the clutter. I am trying to convince ‘is Majesty to provide us with new premises, but as yet ‘e ‘as not seen fit to agree.’[36]

Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod-shrug, a reply that at the same time signified ‘What a waste of money!’ and ‘Why the heck should I care?’

‘My secretary, Mr Victor Linton,’ he said, gesturing to yours truly. ‘You met his sister last night at the opera.’

Guizot’s aquiline eyebrows lifted for a moment. ‘Sister? Oh, yes, I remember. Good morning, Mister Linton. I hope you won’t take this amiss but I ‘ave to enquire: ‘ow much of Mr Ambrose’s dealings are you privy to? That goes for the bearded gentlemen as well.’

We both understood the true meaning of the question all too well.

‘Karim,’ Mr Ambrose said slowly and distinctly, icicles growing on his voice, ‘is completely trustworthy. I trust him with my life.’

‘And your secretary? You’d trust ‘im with your life as well?’

‘Better. I trust him with my money.’

Deep inside, I felt a surge of warmth at his words. We really were going to make it. This had to be true love, right?

Apparently, Monsieur Guizot had done his research on my dear employer. He understood the gravity of Mr Ambrose’s words and didn’t question my presence further. Instead, he reached for a folder on his desk and let it fall open.

‘The officer in charge of the investigation into last night’s incident has presented me with ‘is findings.’

‘Indeed?’

‘He concluded that it was the work of a lone gunman. A revolutionary or anarchist.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘’owever, he does not preclude the possibility that there is a larger movement, and that the assassin was just the tip of the iceberg.’ Closing the folder, Guizot met Mr Ambrose’s expressionless eyes. ‘It seems my best course of action would be to reinforce my policy of stronger amiable connections with ‘er Majesty’s Government in the United Kingdom.’

Mr Ambrose gave a small nod. An important nod. ‘Taking into account Lord Dalgliesh, Minister, that would indeed be the wisest course of action. I would pursue it with the greatest possible speed.’

Guizot’s eyes narrowed.

‘What, pray, does ‘is Lordship ‘ave to do with the matter?’

‘Things tend to…happen where Lord Dalgliesh is involved.’

‘Hm.’ The minister considered for a moment—then nodded. ‘The king’s guard will be reinforced.’

‘A wise measure.’

‘And also—not that I am under any obligation to tell you this, mind you—I shall send a special envoy directly to my colleague in London and see what we can do about deepening relations. As for appearances of His Majesty in public…does your generous offer regarding free tickets to your opera still stand?’

If Mr Rikkard Ambrose had had facial muscles in that stone mask he called a face, they would have contorted in pain. ‘Yes, Minister.’

‘Excellent.’ The minister smiled, in a way that told me he enjoyed that moment a little bit too much. ‘Then His Majesty and I will be paying your establishment a visit soon. And you may expect some other dignitaries to join us there in the near future. I must say, I am particularly glad this whole business happened before the big visit.’

Mr Ambrose froze. Until a moment ago, he had been a stone statue. Now he was a stone statue with a coating of ice. Only his eyes were flickering with fire.

‘What visit?’ he demanded.

‘Why, the visit of the Earl of Auckland, of course.’

Mr Ambrose didn’t relax. If anything, he became even tenser, and the temperature in the room plummeted.

‘Would that be the same Earl of Auckland who is currently Governor-General of India, Minister?’

‘Yes. Why—’

‘The governor-general of the company in which Lord Dalgliesh is the majority shareholder?’

There was a momentary pause. We all exchanged dark glances. Was this part of Dalgliesh’s real plan? Was this what we had been missing? Why he wanted us gone?

‘Yes.’

Mr Ambrose took a step forward. ‘And did you plan to show him around the city? Show him the sights? Maybe invited him to social events with yourself and His Majesty, such as…the opera?’

Shadows fell across the minister’s countenance.

‘Yes. I did.’

Behind me, Karim uttered a low oath and slammed his fist against the wall.