Hunting for Silence by Robert Thier

Meeting of Misers

Additional Chapter

‘My name is Rikkard Ambrose. I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.’

My aunt’s mouth dropped open.

‘R…Rick…Rickard…A-Ambrose?’

One look at her face was enough for me to see—she knew who he was. Of course she did. My aunt had kept a list of London’s most eligible bachelors since my sisters and I were old enough to hold our own spoons. There was no way she wouldn’t know the name of the man who stood unchallenged at the very top.

‘The Ri…Rickard Ambrose?’

‘No. Not Ririckard. Rickard.’

Neatly folding his gloves, he slipped them into his tailcoat pocket, and, hanging the top hat on the hat stand, stepped into the hallway without wasting time on asking first.

‘You are Hester Mahulda Brank, I presume?’

‘Y-you’ve heard of me?’

Mr Rikkard Ambrose glanced at me.

‘Oh yes.’

My aunts shrivelled vulture face flushed with pleasure. I didn’t she had noticed that glance in my direction, or the ominous emphasis on his words.

Just then, footsteps approached from the drawing room.

‘Aunt Brank?’ Maria stuck her head out into the hallway. ‘Aunt Brank, what’s the commotion? Who is i—’

That was the moment she spotted Mr Ambrose.

‘Grrgmmph.’

‘Quite the unusual name, I must say.’ Mr Ambrose inclined his head about half a millimetre. ‘Greetings, Miss Grrgmmph. My name is Rikkard Ambrose.’

‘Ri-Rickard Am…Ambrose…’

‘Hm. Deficient hearing seems to be common in this family.’

‘P-please excuse our behaviour.’ Aunt Brank sank into the deepest curtsey I had ever seen her make. ‘We were simply taken aback by having the chance to great such an eminent personage as yourself in our humble home. It is quite an honour.’

‘Yes. It is.’

‘Maria? What’s the hold up?’ Anne appeared behind her twin sister and tapped on her shoulder. She received no reaction whatsoever. ‘Maria? What’s the matter? What are you staring at? Who—grk!’

Dear me.

Mr Ambrose did have a talent for abruptly silencing people, didn’t he?

Normally, watching my twin demon sisters wasn’t one of my favourite hobbies. But right now, it was well worth it. Smirking, I leaned against the wall and decided to enjoy the show. This was promising to be a most entertaining afternoon.

‘Lillian Linton! What are you doing, slouching against the wall with that silly smile on your face? Can’t you see we have an important guest? Go and fetch some refreshments, quick!’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Mr Ambrose cut in. ‘In fact, it would be counterproductive for her to leave. The reason I’ve come here today is that I have a matter to discuss with your husband. A matter regarding Miss Lillian.’

‘R-regarding Lillian?’ Never had I seen my aunt go so pale so fast. By the looks of it, I should go fetch smelling salts, not refreshments. ‘Please, Mr Ambrose, whatever she’s done, we’ll make sure she pays for the damage!’

Thank you so much for the trust and faith you put in me, Aunt. It really means a lot.

‘Lillian, you bad, bad girl!’ Turning to me with fury blazing in her eyes, Aunt Brank waved her hand in my face. I was only glad she’d let go of the carpet beater, or I might have been laid flat. ‘How dare you insult a personage like Mr Rikkard Ambrose? Don’t you know anything? He is one of the most important people in the entire empire! Why, it is even rumoured that he has connections to the royal family!’

You mean the fellows whose wedding we attended? That royal family?

‘You miserable little unfilial girl! You’re simply hopeless! Stupid! Worthless! And anyone who says different deserves to be flogged, tarred, feathered, and driven out of town!’

Oh, they do, do they?Demonstratively, I tried not looking at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Now that’s something I’d like to see.

‘Why in goddness’s name are you smirking, you worthless wench?’ Shaking her head, my aunt turned back to Mr Ambrose. ‘I simply do not know what to do with her. Please, Mr Ambrose, whatever this unfilial niece of mine has done to deserve your ire, she’ll do anything to appease you! We’ll do anything!’

‘You will?’ He cocked his head. ‘I see. That simplifies matters. Then let me marry her.’

‘Of course, Sir! You may punish her in any way you—wait, what?’

I had seen my aunt stunned with shock plenty of times. The first time I had stuck a frog into her shoe, for instance. Or that one memorable occasion on which Uncle Bufford had actually gone so far as to come down for breakfast and say ‘good morning’ to her. But never ever in my life had I seen her so utterly flabbergasted as right then.

They said getting married would bring a girl the greatest joy of her life.

What do you know? They’d actually been right.

‘P-pardon? Mr Ambrose, I think I heard you incorrectly. What did you say?’

Uh-oh…

I couldn’t help but grin into my hand.

His arctic eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Did I not mention that I do not like to repeat myself? I said I wish to marry her. As in contract matrimonial relations? That is the reason for my coming here today.’

‘Marry?’ She asked once more, faintly. ‘Lillian?’

Clearly, she was having trouble imagining any reasonably sane male putting those two words in the same sentence.

One of my sisters raised their hands. ‘Err…are you sure you have the right house, Sir? I think another Lillian lives that way, five houses down the road. She’s thirty-five and has a clubfoot, but she’s a very nice girl.’

Thank you very much for your vote of confidence!

‘What,’ Mr Ambrose enquired, his icy gaze sweeping the room, ‘did I just say about repeating myself?’

Everyone instinctively took a step backwards and bowed their heads. Everyone but me, that is. My sisters didn’t fail to notice the straightforward, completely unintimidated way I looked at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, perhaps the most powerful man in the entire British Empire. Their faces instantly changed complexions. Lisbeth and Gertrude went pale. Ella flushed with joy. And as for Anne and Maria, they couldn’t have been more green with envy if they’d been frogs in my aunt’s shoes.

They were slowly starting to realize: this was real. And it had been, for quite some time. And nobody had noticed.

‘No way!’ Anne whispered. ‘No way! It’s really true? It can’t be! There’s simply no way that a miserable little fussock like you could catch—’[55]

Mr Rickard Ambrose’s eyes snapped to her in a flash. Her words dried up mid-sentence in a croak.

‘You were saying?’ he enquired, cocking his head.

‘N-nothing.’ Shaking her head wildly, she began to retreat. ‘I wasn’t saying anything.’

‘Indeed. That is what I thought.’

‘P-please forgive us, Mr Ambrose.’ My aunt made a hurried curtsy. ‘This has come as quite a shock to all of us! We had no idea…’ She turned her head towards me and was about to throw me a venomous glare when she realized that, under the current circumstances, that might not be the wisest thing to do. ‘Dear me. Here I am prattling on, and I haven’t even offered you refreshments yet. Where are my manners?’

Mr Ambrose met her attempt at an ingratiating smile with an arctic look immune to ingratiating, bootlicking, and probably a dozen poisons besides. ‘I wouldn’t know. How many years has it been since you’ve seen them last?’

‘Err…um…well, I think I’d better fetch refreshments now. Leadfield, please show the gentleman into the drawing room. Girls, hurry up and help me! And as for you, Lillian—’

‘She,’ Mr Ambrose said, ‘is coming with me.’

‘Ah. Um. Right.’ Aunt Brank gave him another smile as sincere as a promise made on April Fool’s day. ‘I was just about to suggest that.’

‘Doubtlessly.’

A bent and wrinkled Leadfield, who seemed to be walking even more excruciatingly slowly than normally, held open the door to the drawing room, and my aunt stepped towards the door, only to be overtaken by Mr Ambrose, who strode straight to her favourite chair and sat down.

‘Err…please take a seat,’ Aunt Brank said.

He cocked his head about one millimetre. ‘I already have. Now, will you go inform the head of the household of my arrival? I would like to make him give his blessing to this arrangement immediately.’

‘Err…surely you mean ask him to give his blessing?’

Leaning forward, Mr Ambrose gave her a very long, very marrow-freezing look. ‘Do I look like the type of man who says things he does not mean?’

‘Err…no! I didn’t mean to imply…’

‘Your face looks a little bit red, dear aunty,’ I asked, the picture of a concerned niece drawn by an extremely devious cartoon artist. ‘What’s wrong? Feeling flustered? Would you sit down? This must be such a great joy to you, knowing that your greatest dream will finally come to fruition and your dear niece will be happily married.’

‘Yes,’ my dear aunty ground out between clenched teeth as she speered me with her dagger-like eyes. ‘Such a…joy.’

‘I can see that. You look like you could explode from delight.’

‘Well…yes. Then I’d better go and…and…’

‘Explode outside?’ Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘Adequate idea. And do not forget to fetch the man of the house.’

‘No, Sir! Certainly not, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’

And she fled from the room.

Left behind was me, Mr Ambrose, and my flabbergasted collection of frozen statues, also known as ‘sisters’.

Reaching for one of cup of teas Leadfield had brought, I took a sip. ‘Nice weather today, isn’t it?’

‘Indeed,’ said Mr Ambrose.

No one else said a thing. They all just kept staring at the two of us as if watching a zebra and tiger snuggling in the zoo.

‘Hm.’ Rising to his feet, Mr Ambrose tugged on his tailcoat. ‘This is taking too long. I shall see what is the matter!’

And he strode out of the room.

The door closed behind him.

I started counting in my head.

Three.

Two.

O—

‘What the everloving figs!? Lilly, what the heck is going on here?’

My sisters Anne and Maria appeared in front of me, like fallen angels of vengeance. All that was missing were the tails and pitchforks. Although at least the flames of hell in their eyes were there.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, batting my eyelashes like a professional cricket player.

‘Don’t give us that innocent routine! What is this charade supposed to be? What the heck is your connection to…to that man? How…why…what…?’

‘I believe he already stated it, didn’t he?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re getting married.’

‘How can this be?’ she growled. I heard the unspoken part at the end. How can it be you lowly little insect, and not me? ‘It’s impossible! This is a fake! It’s impossible for something like this to happen without any of us knowing!’

‘Oh,’ Ella picked that moment to say in an innocent and sublimely effective tone I couldn’t hope to match, ‘I knew.’

Maria nearly swallowed her own tongue.

I knew there was a reason why Ella was my favourite sister.

‘You what?’

Instantly, everyone’s attention turned to Ella. My dear, innocent little sister sat there, sipping her tea with her little finger sticking out, the perfect image of a lady. I, personally, always mixed up my little finger with my middle finger.

‘You didn’t?’ Ella’s eyebrows rose oh-so-innocently. ‘Wasn’t it so obvious? I’ve seen the sign for. oh…about four years.’

Impressive! Since that’s before I actually met him.

My dear little sister had impressive hidden skills. Lying like a rug apparently being one of them.

‘Four years?’

My dear sisters’ eyes were almost popping out of their heads.

‘Oh yes. He sent her love letters all the time.’ She gave a meaningful sigh. ‘I still remember that one he sent from Paris…such touching words of love!’

Ah yes. The one that said ‘stop wasting ink’.

By this point, Anne and Maria’s heads were nearly ready to explode. Taking turns and helping each other as all good sisters should, they manged to simultaneously glare at me and Ella. ‘From Paris? He sent her love letters from Paris?’

‘Oh yes.’ Ella took another sip of tea. ‘Just before she went to visit him there and he proposed.’

This year, I decided, I was going to have to get Ella something really spectacular for her birthday.

‘P-proposed? In Paris?’

‘Oh yes. Where was it again, Lilly?’

‘On the stage of an opera house,’ I cheerfully proclaimed. ‘His opera house.’

Looking at Maria’s face right there and then, for the first time I realized why the expression ‘green-eyed monster’ was used to refer to jealousy.

‘Why!’ My dear older sister’s fist slammed onto the table. ‘Why you? It’s impossible! Not a bloody pudgy gibface[56] like yo—’

‘Maria! Control yourself!’ Gertrude admonished. She was a quiet girl and very rarely played the eldest sister card. But right now, her eyes were sparkling with danger.

But, apparently, Maria didn’t give a flying fig. ‘Why would I? You know as well as I do she’s the worst of all of us! She’s wilful, unladylike, ignorant about anything a girl of good birth ought to know, and as for her looks, well…’ She cast a look at me, and then at the mirror on the wall that clearly said Compare specimen A and B and tell me you don’t realize what I mean.

‘I realize what you mean,’ Ella said, sweetly. ‘Unlike you, she actually has some.’

‘You…! You little…!’

Bravo, Ella!

I was feeling less and less anxious about leaving this house and leaving her behind. Apparently, my little sister had grown quite a bit recently, and was more than capable of taking care of herself.

But even Ella could not hold my twin sister’s wrath long. The soon-to-be-married elephant in the room was just too tempting to ignore.

‘You!’ They both whirled towards me. ‘It’s all your fault! Tell me! How did you do it? What did you do to ensnare him?’

‘Hm, let me think…’ I tapped my chin, thoughtfully. ‘What was it called again…ah, yes! ‘Being nice’. That was one of the things I did. You should try it once in a while. And…what was the other one gain? Oh yes! ‘Having a brain’! That was useful, too, and—’

‘You…!’

Eyes lit with rage, Anne and Maria charged towards me. Unable to restrain herself, Anne reached out to grab me by the collar, and—

—and with his inimitable sense of timing, Mr Rikkard Ambrose pushed open the door.

Anne froze.

‘Something wrong?’ He raised an eyebrow, just one millimetre.

Anne backed off as if her hand had been seared. A smile as sincere as a succubus’s marriage vow appeared on her face. ‘N-no! Of course not. I was just about to hug her and congratulate her!’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes! It’s been such a wonderful surprise!’ He smile widened. ‘The two of us should have a long chat later. Now that we’re going to be relatives, we should get to know each other better.’

Icy eyes scrutinized my sister for one long moment. Then…

‘No. We shouldn’t.’

Sometimes, I really, really loved Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

‘Seems like your uncle isn’t available at the moment,’ he said, turning to me. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his silver pocket watch and let it snap open. ‘I have an appointment with the head of a turnip farm in Cheshire in half an hour. Let matters rest here for today. I can come back another day and finish this asking for your hand business.’

On the other hand, there were moments like this one.

But before I could leap forward and try to suffocate my dear fiancée, an angel rushed inside to save the day.

‘Oh no, Mr Ambrose, you mustn’t!” Aunt Brank dashed into the rooms, her arms flailing like a frantic windmill. ‘You mustn’t!”

Angels come in the unlikeliest shapes and sizes.

‘I must not?”

‘I just spoke to my husband! He will be happy to speak with you. Please, come right this way.”

‘Hm. Very well.” He held out his hand towards me, and before even thinking about it, I took it. ‘Let’s go, shall we?”

My heart made a leap. This was it! The big moment. I wasn’t of age yet. Not quite. If I wanted to marry this man, as much as I detested the fact, I needed another man’s permission. Of course, I could always wait a few months, but…

Out of the corner of my eyes, I glanced at Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s sublime profile.

Nah. Waiting was out.

‘Let’s go!’ I said and, together, my husband-to-be and I marched towards the stairs, following my aunt. Slowly, we ascended the stairs, the old wood beneath our feet creaking ominously. We came to a stop at the dark door at the end of the landing.

‘Husband?’ Clearing her throat, she knocked at the door. ‘I’ve brought Mr—’

‘Ah,’ a familiar growl came from inside. ‘The madman is here, is he?’

‘Husband!’

‘Do you have to remind me, woman? It’s painful enough every day when I see that ring on my finger. Get the two of them in here!’

‘Y-yes.’

Aunt Brank opened the door, and I stepped through before she managed to realize she was actually politely holding the door for me. Her suddenly souring face as I stepped past was a fabulous sight.

Unfortunately, it was superseded by the grim face of Uncle Bufford, sitting behind his desk with his fingers steepled. Mr Ambrose followed me into the room and the door closed with a click behind us.

‘Hm. Hello, Girl.’

‘Hello.’

Uncle Bufford’s eyes flicked to Mr Ambrose.

‘You are…?’

‘I,’ he informed uncle Bufford, ‘am the man who is going to marry your niece Lillian.’

‘Confident? Good, good.’ His brows furrowed. ‘If you can back it up, that is. Name?’

Mr Ambrose’s eyes flashed with the pride of a man who knew his name meant something. ‘Rikkard Ambrose.’

‘Hm. That one.’

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’

‘Indeed.’

Yes…this conversation was about as full of scintillating rhetoric as I had expected.

‘You seem like a gentleman.’ Uncle Bufford leaned forward. ‘But this little girl is very precious to me. So you understand I have to make sure…’

‘Yes.’

I couldn’t help but feel moved. Precious? I was precious to him?

‘So,’ he growled, ‘how much are you willing to pay for her?’

Precious?

Precious!

That dastardly old badger…! I…

I felt Mr Ambrose’s hand holding me back.

He cocked his head. ‘I thought it traditionally is the duty of the bride’s family to pay a dowry?’

‘I’ve never been particularly fond of traditions that empty my wallet. So…’ Small black eyes sparkling, eh leaned forward. ‘How. Much. Will. You. Pay. For. Her?’

Ambrose regarded him coolly for a moment or two—then leaned forward, too, meeting his gaze. ‘Not a penny.’

My mouth dropped open. But before anything could come out of it, he grabbed my hand and, stepping forward, continued, ‘Because I know her. Because she is free to choose. I cannot offer money to buy what you don’t own. I will only marry her because she wants to, not because you allow it.’

I felt a lump rise in my throat. He…he just said the most wonderfully romantic thing he had ever uttered in his life to me. And he did it while being as miserable a skinflint a skinflint as ever. That was the man I loved!

‘Harrumph.’ Uncle Bufford’s did his very best to hide it under his bushy eyebrows, but I saw the glint of approval in his eyes. ‘So it’s like that, is it?’ He gazed at Mr Ambrose out of narrowed eyes. ‘Are you at least going to pay for the ceremony?’

I grinned. Translation: you have my blessing.

‘No. Are you?’

Translation: thank you.

Well…I was being optimistic about that one.

‘No.’

‘Hm.’

‘Hm. Hm. We appear to be at an impasse.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes. I completely approve of you, yet I cannot agree to the match as long as you remain stubborn on this issue.’

Mr Ambrose considered for a moment. ‘How about we split the costs fifty-fifty?’

‘Sounds sensible. However, I have paid for her room and board for more then a decade. The costs of that should be subtracted from my share, which would leave you owing me, let me see…’ Reaching for an abacus, he swiftly shifted a few different-coloured beads around, then looked up. ‘Roughly two-hundred pounds sterling, ten shillings and sixpence.’

The answer came swift and decisive. ‘Unacceptable.’

‘I’m afraid that is a non-negotiable condition.’

‘Then we are indeed at an impasse.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Hm.’

‘Hm. Hm.’

I grinned. ‘I can see the two of you are going along great!’

Two heads turned, and two cool gazes bored into me, silently asking What is this deranged female talking about?

My grin widened, and, folding my arms behind my neck, I leaned back in my armchair. ‘By all means, do continue. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy this.’

‘You are supposed to be fearful and anxious to obtain my blessing,’ Uncle Bufford grumbled.

I continued to grin, unabashed. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

‘You don’t look sorry.’

‘Oh my. Indeed?’

His small dark eyes scrutinized me for a long moment. ‘You look…happy.’

The grin on my face slowly morphed, until a soft, sincere smile was left, unlike any I could remember having on my face before. ‘I am.’

‘Hm.’ His jaw worked for a moment—then he glanced at Mr Ambrose. ‘Maybe we can discuss who shall take care of the wedding costs at a later date.’

Giving me a long look, Mr Ambrose’s hand squeezed mine. ‘Agreed.’

‘So…’ Reaching out, I took his gnarled old hand. ‘Will you give it to me? For free?’

He knew what I meant. His jaw worked, and, after a moment of intense struggle, he nodded.

‘You have my blessing.’