Hunting for Silence by Robert Thier

Feeding the Homeless and the Blackmailers

As a child, I loved playing hide and seek. We had our own special family rules, and they were quite simple: I would put a frog in my aunt’s boot. Her screech was the signal for the game to begin. I would hide, and she would seek (screaming with rage and waving a carpet beater). The thought made me smile. Ah, what fun times we had as a family…

Now, however, things were different.

‘Mr Linton? Yoo-hoo, Mr Linton, where are you?’

Holding my breath, I cowered behind the lifeboat and prayed she wouldn’t think to look there.

Just let her walk by. Just let her walk by, please…

The tarpaulin over the lifeboat lifted just a bit and a curious pair of eyes peeked out.

‘Are ye a stowaway, too?’ whispered a voice that hadn’t encountered puberty yet.

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I’m a passenger! Please, can I come hide in there with you?’

The eye blinked. ‘Err….why?’

‘Yoo-hoo, Mr Linton? Come out, come out, wherever you are. You’re such a tease. I love that about you.’

‘Long story!’ I hissed. ‘Can’t explain now. Please, just please! Let me hide in there?’

The young stowaway considered.

‘Two shillings,’ he finally decided. A hand emerged from the tarpaulin and opened.

‘You expect me to pay you?’

‘Hey, Mister, ye’re the one who’s wanting to share me hiding place.’

‘Your hiding place? You are the stowaway here! I could just call the captain and—’

‘—draw attention to yerself,’ the boy finished. He sounded as if he was enjoying himself. ‘And I’m sure we don’t want that, now, would we? Two shillings and sixpence.’

‘What? You conniving, greedy little—’

‘Two shillings and eightpence.’

‘All right, all right! But only because you remind me of someone I know.’ Quickly, I dug around for a few coins in my pocket and pressed them into the greedy little hand. It withdrew with admirable speed, and I followed, crawling under the tarpaulin. Inside, I encountered a shadowy little form with a dirty face and gap-toothed grin.

‘So…’ enquired the boy. ‘If ye ain’t no stowaway, why are ye hiding? Smuggling? Murder? Piracy?’

He sounded hopeful.

‘God, no! Nothing like that.’

‘Oh. Um…but maybe you know some smugglers or pirates? I’d love to be a pirate one day! If you could tell me where to join—’

‘Be quiet, will you?’ I hissed. ‘She’ll hear us!’

‘She? We’re hiding from a girl?’

Just in time, I lunged forward and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, or the little brat would have stuck his head out from under the tarpaulin and given us away.

‘Let me go!’ he protested. ‘I can’t hide from a girl! That’s cowardly. Girls are harmless.’

‘You, young man,’ I told him, ‘have a lot to learn. Now keep your mouth shut!’

‘Or what?’

‘Or you won’t get the other shilling I’ve got in my pocket.’

That did the trick. Grumbling, he fell into reluctant silence. So did I, and we waited while Miss Emilia Harse passed by outside, calling my name. When she was gone, I waited another few minutes, just to be sure, then slid out from under my hiding place and handed the boy his shilling.

‘Can I come hiding here again?’ I asked. ‘Things are rather desperate.’

He grinned up at me. ‘Depends. ‘ave you got more money?’

‘Yes, but you won’t get any! Wouldn’t do you any good, anyway. You’re heading to France, you little worm, remember? They don’t use pounds and shillings over there.’

‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘Right.’

‘But,’ I continued, ‘I might have something even better for you.’

‘Better than money? What’s better than money?’

I grinned. ‘Can’t you guess?’

*~*~**~*~*

A quarter of an hour later I sauntered into the ferry’s dining room and settled down at a nice, quiet corner table. A waiter came hurrying towards me.

‘Good afternoon, Sir. Have you made your choice yet?’

Cocking my head, I studied the menu. ‘That depends. Is the food included in the ticket price?’

Looking up, I saw the waiter gave me a considering look. A look that said, How much could this little fellow eat, after all? He smiled. ‘Yes, of course, Sir. All included in our service.’

‘Very well. Then I would like…the roast duck, as an appetizer, next the French pie and the chicken fricassee, then the tomato salad, the strawberries in cream, and the steak and kidney pie, followed by the hare soup, without any hairs in it, please, and the mutton cutlets, the braised beef, the turbot in lobster sauce, the spring chicken, the roast quarter of lamb – or all four quarters, if you have them – and, as a little dessert, two apple pies and a chocolate cake, please.’

I glanced up to see the waiter standing there with his mouth open.

‘Well?’ I enquired. ‘What are you waiting for?’

The poor waiter hurried off towards the galley to make the cook into a galley slave.

The rumbling of a stomach came from under the tablecloth. ‘How long will it be until the grub comes, guv?’

I kicked the table. ‘Be quiet, you little greedy-guts. You’ll get your food.’

‘Aye aye, Sir!’

The table fell silent.

I was just about to lean back in my chair and pop open the bottle of wine waiting for me on the table when the doors to the dining room opened, and in stepped Miss Harse. Her eyes found me and lit up with joy.

My first instinct was to jump up from the table and out the nearest porthole.

Stay where you are, Lilly! You don’t run. You’ve got backbone, and if you don’t, you’d damn well better get some! You’re safe here. She wouldn’t dare to maul you in front of all the dinner guests.

Probably.

Well…hopefully.

The lady approached my table with a broad smile. I forced an answering smile onto my face, for the first time in my life understanding why it was so hard for Mr Ambrose to do that he didn’t bother most of the time.

‘Miss Harse. What a pleasure to see you,’ I lied.

The table giggled. I gave it another kick.

Miss Harse blushed. She damn well blushed! And then—bloody hell!—she stopped in front of the table.

‘Yes. A true pleasure for me as well, Mr Linton.’

And she still stood there, without showing a sign of sitting down, although she clearly wanted to. Why not?

‘Ask her to sit down, you dummy!’ hissed my table.

‘What was that?’ Miss Harse asked.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ I shook my head and felt like slapping myself. Of course! Those gentlemanly rules again. She’s probably waiting for me to ask her to sit down, and to pull her chair out.

Well, time for me to do the thing I was simply fabulous at: being rude.

Leisurely crossing my arms behind my head, I leant back and gave the lady a charming smile.

‘Wonderful weather we have today, don’t we?’

She blinked, and looked from me to the chair and back. This was not what she’d been expecting to hear.

‘Err…yes.’

‘Oh dear me, where did I leave my manners? Won’t you take a—’

‘Yes, please!’

‘—nut?’

She froze in mid-motion.

‘Pardon?’

‘A nut.’ I reached for the bowl of nuts and grapes standing on the table and held it out to her. ‘As a little appetizer.’

‘Oh. Um. Yes, thank you.’

Still she remained standing, unable to sit down, but clearly unwilling to walk away. With severe difficulty, I managed to suppress a grin. Boy, this was fun! More than that, it was genius! Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I could just be abominably rude to her, and soon enough she would leave me alone.

You’re a genius, Lilly! Just act like an arrogant, patronising, chauvinistic son of a bachelor. After all, who in their right mind would want to be with a man like that?

With an arrogant smirk, I crossed my legs under the table. Something tugged at my trousers. Damn! I didn’t need a street urchin and stowaway trying to remind me of my gentlemanly manners! Especially not since I had only just gotten rid of them. With my foot, I gave the squirt a gentle shove, telling him to keep his nose out of my business.

Time to start your career as a chauvinistic bastard, Lilly!

‘I’m really looking forward to seeing France again, you know.’ I informed Miss Harse.

‘Again?’ The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You mean you’ve been there before?’

‘Of course. I’ve been all over the world.’ Dismissively, I flicked a speck of dust off my tailcoat. Heck, being arrogant was fun! Time for a bit of chauvinism. ‘But France is one of my favourite places to be. French girls are simply…oh la la.’

‘Mr Linton!’ The scandalised girl covered her mouth with one hand, a fierce blush rising to her cheeks. ‘You shouldn’t say these things in front of a lady.’

I gave her an arrogant smirk, the kind of which usually earned my suitors a kick on the shins. ‘Well, as the French say, Vous êtes une botte asymétrique liée à une courgette.’[3]

‘Mr Linton!’ Blushing furiously, she took a step backwards. An impressive result, considering I was quite sure she had no idea what I had just said, and incidentally, neither had I. ‘You wicked, wicked man.’

Her blush deepened. Oh yes. I was making quite a good start in my career as a blackguard, rake and general arsehole. Only…why hadn’t she run away yet? She was still standing there, her eyes resting on me with strange fascination. I supposed I would have to use more drastic measures.

‘Well, it’s been nice chatting with you. But now run along little girl, will you?’ With one leisurely hand, I waved her off. ‘I think my meal is coming, and you’re blocking my view of the ocean.’

Wow. I really was talented at being a chauvinistic arsehole—almost as though I had rehearsed the role. How could that be?

Oh well, who cared? As long as my patented arsehole method would get rid of Miss Emilia Harse, what did it matter?

‘Y-your view?’ The girl blinked. ‘Oh. Of course.’ Giving me a shy smile, she curtsied. ‘I’ll go find my mother. I hope we meet again, Mr Linton. Very soon.’

And with another blush, she hurried away, while I stared after her, dumbfounded. She hoped we’d meet again? Very soon?

Why?

‘Gorblimey!’ A dirty little head emerged from under the table, gazing after Miss Harse. ‘She’s got it bad for you, guv. You played her good!’

‘What do you mean, I played her?’ I blinked at him. ‘I was an arrogant bastard! My manners were worse than those of Attila the Hun with a hangover. She would have to be insane to want to spend another minute in my company.’

The little boy glanced up at me—then gave a cackle. ‘You’re serious guv, aren’t ye? Ye God! Ye’ve got a lot to learn about women.’

I glowered at him. ‘Get back under the table before I change my mind about the food.’

He stuck his tongue out and vanished with another grin.

Shaking my head, I grabbed for a paper and put up a dignified wall between me and insolent stowaways. Me, not knowing anything about women? Ha! Ridiculous!

‘Sir?’

Lowering my paper, I spotted the approaching waiter swaying under the weight of my meal. ‘Here you are, Sir,’ panted the poor man, dropping the first three courses in my lap. Somehow, I managed to slow their descent and steer them onto the table.

‘Thank you.’

Straightening, the waiter wiped sweat off his forehead. ‘Will you be needing anything else, Sir?’

I gave him a smile. ‘Well, yes. The next course, in about ten minutes.’

‘Ten minutes?’ With wide eyes, the poor man stared down at the three humongous plates in front of me, stuffed to the brim with food. ‘But…’

‘Oh, that?’ I glanced at the plates while a small hand sneaked out from under the table and, unbeknownst to the waiter, snuck a slice of French pie from my plate. ‘Don’t worry. I have a feeling it’ll be gone quite soon.’

‘Y-yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir.’

The waiter stumbled away, and I took a sip of soup. From under the table came the sound of energetic chewing, reminiscent of a beaver determined to fell a whole forest. Soon, the last bite was gone, and a small hand appeared to snatch another slice of pie.

‘That young drapery miss really fancies you, mister.’[4]

I gave the table a censorious look. ‘Shut up and eat.’

‘So,’ he said, completely ignoring my order, ‘have you prigged her yet?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Prigged. You know? Docked her, done the beast with two backs—’

‘I know what it means! The question is, how do you? How old are you exactly? And no, I haven’t! And I’m not going to!’

‘Oh.’ For a moment, thoughtful silence reigned under the table. ‘Do you mind if I give it a try, then? She’s quite easy on the eyes, and maybe…’

I kicked the table.

‘Eat! And be quiet!’

‘Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir.’

*~*~**~*~*

I put the rest of my ‘be-an-arsehole’ plan into effect that very day. When I met Miss Harse and her mother on the promenade deck later that day, I gave no greeting, but instead marched past them in sullen silence.

‘Mr Linton!’

I turned. Apparently, my egregious lack of manners wasn’t sufficient. Oh well…time to fire a bigger calibre.

‘Mr Linton, have you heard? The captain said we’ll reach the French coast tomorrow. Oh, I’m so excited.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ I snapped. ‘And neither should you be!’

Taken aback, she retreated a step. ‘Mr…Mr Linton?’

‘France isn’t as safe as England.’ Where you get robbed by highwaymen on public roads. ‘Two women travelling alone? It would be insupportable!’ I let my derisive gaze slide over them, channelling every chauvinistic bastard I had ever heard. ‘Women are weak. Women are defenceless without a strong man to protect them. You should turn around the moment we land in France.’

Wow. It was amazing how easy it was to spout this sort of nonsense while you were wearing this getup. Maybe it was something about the big pair of socks stuffed down the front of my trousers. They seemed to have taken on a mind of their own.

Regardless of where they’d come from though, I could see that my words were having the desired effect. Emilia’s cheeks had paled, and her mother had taken a step backwards.

‘Mr Linton…Mr Linton, are you…’

A total and utter asshole? Yes!

‘…concerned for me?’

What? No! No, no, nononono!

‘That’s so sweet!’ Not giving a damn that people were watching, Emilia rushed forward and hugged me as if I were a big piece of solid chocolate. Good God! If she felt the socks…

‘Oh, Mr Linton!’ Glancing up at me, her cheeks reddened, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘You rogue!’

I want to die. I want to die right here and now. Spontaneous combustion would be nice. Or maybe some kind of horribly painful, quick-acting poison?

‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t be travelling through France alone. I’ll have you to protect me.’

And with a wink and a giggle, she scurried away. Her mother sent a beneficent smile my way, and I felt a sudden yearning for the good old days, when prospective mothers-in-law had despised me at first sight. Good God! Did I make for a better son-in-law than a daughter-in-law? Would I have to get a permanent pair of socks?

Shrugging off the horrifying thought, I quickly made my way across the deck. As soon as I was out of sight of the two harpies, I started to run and didn’t stop until I reached my destination. Panting, I kicked the side of the lifeboat.

The tarpaulin lifted a fraction of an inch. ‘Yes?’

‘Move over!’ I commanded. ‘I’m coming in.’

*~*~**~*~*

I sat in the dark, happily breathing in the smell of rotten fish. The time in the lifeboat, in spite of the smell and the boy’s sharp elbows, was a blissful respite. Yet sooner or later, the problem of Miss Emilia Harse would have to be dealt with. What could I do? She had me backed into a corner. She was a woman on the prowl, and I was nothing but a poor, hapless gentleman, defenceless in her clutches.

My last hope was that, surely, the two ladies weren’t planning on going to Paris, like I was. After all, there were hundreds of towns all over France, and a whole continent of people beyond. What were the chances of them going to the same city I was?

I couldn’t deal with distractions like this now. Mr Ambrose was in trouble, and that was what I had to focus on. I had to concentrate on getting to him, not getting some infatuated country damsel to keep her hands off my extra pair of socks!

Surely, they wouldn’t go to Paris.

Surely.

Probably.