’God rest ye merry gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay…’
My finger froze halfway through the report I was trying to read. It was at moments like these that I was filled with gratification at being neither merry nor a gentleman. I had no intention whatsoever to rest.
And there are more than enough reasons to be dismayed.
My finger resumed its movement across the page—a page that detailed at least one such reason: Dalgliesh. The man had been busy. From what my agents in India had to report, far too busy for my liking.
‘Away in a manger, no crib for a bed…’
For a moment, I considered sending Karim to find those carol singers, and fulfilling their dearest wish. Sending them away stuffed into a manger, preferably with the lid nailed shut, seemed like a very tempting idea at the moment. It would definitely allow me to finish my report in peace. However…the Christmas enthusiast was most likely a member of my mother’s staff, and she usually didn’t appreciate members of her household being stuffed into crates and shipped off to distant lands. She tended to get over-excited about a lot of things.
Such as what is between you and a certain lady?
Nothing. There was nothing there. I would remain cool, calm and collected. And there was nothing whatsoever a certain disrespectful, rebellious woman could do about that. No woman had the power to make Rikkard Ambrose do as she wished.
‘Sir?’
My head jerked up to face the servant who was standing right beside me. How had he gotten there without my noticing?
A lack of vigilance. That’s how.
Giving a jerk of my head, I nailed the young servant to the spot with my stare. ‘Yes?’
The young man swallowed. ‘Y-your mother was wondering where you are, Sir. She ordered me to fetch y—’ Abruptly, he cleared his throat and changed the direction of his sentence. Wise decision. ‘Um, she requested me to enquire whether you could spare her a few moments.’
Instinctively, my head jerked towards her. The woman who was the reason for my being here. The woman who was responsible for my lack of discipline, my mother’s sudden interest in my affairs, and a host of other unpleasantly irregular events in my life.
‘Go!’ She waved her hand. A greeting or a dismissal? The former, surely. She wouldn’t dare to dismiss me. ‘I’ll be perfectly safe! Mabel—it is Mabel, right?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ the housemaid curtseyed promptly.
‘There, you see? Mabel is going to keep me company. If anything happens, I’ll scream the house down.’
And she gave me a smile. The kind of smile that pulled at something deep inside me, and…
Ignore. Focus.
I felt a muscle twitch. ‘It’s a large house.’
‘And I’m good at screaming, as you should know from experience. Go!’
For a moment, I hesitated—then realized what I was doing. Just sitting here, wasting time? What had happened to me? Abruptly, I rose to my feet. ‘I shall be only a minute. In the meantime…’ Fixing a look on the housemaid, I made sure she understood. Understood without words whom she was dealing with, and what would happen if anything went amiss. ‘You are personally responsible for Miss Linton’s safety. If anything happens to her in my absence, you will have me to answer to.’
*~*~**~*~*
I thrust open the door and marched into the room. My mother was just in the process of stitching a number of superfluous endothermic vertebrates on a scrap of silk—in other words, embroidering a handkerchief with birds. Swiftly and silently, I strode up to her.
‘Mother.’
She jumped a foot into the air, almost stabbing her finger with her needle. My sister, sitting a few feet away, glanced up, looking as if she would very much prefer to stab me instead.
‘Good Lord! Can’t you knock?’
I gave her a cool look. ‘The ability to do something does not imply the necessity.’
She nodded. ‘Ah. So you’re just bad-mannered. Good to know.’
Turning away from the young raven-haired harpy, whom I was seventy-five per cent certain was related to me, I focused on the easier target: my mother. She was looking up at me with a soft, longing look in her eyes. Soft, longing and loving.
Certainty: twenty-five per cent.
‘You wanted something, Mother?’
‘Yes, Rick. Um, I…’ She fiddled with her needle, accidentally stabbing her birds to death multiple times, and turning the flower on the handkerchief from a rose to a porouse. ‘I was wondering…’
‘Yes?’ My cool gaze swivelled back from the vertebrates to her—and promptly, her courage faltered.
‘I was wondering if you would like to sit down?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’
‘Err…would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No.’
‘A biscuit?’
‘No.’
‘A kick in the butt?’
That last one had not come from my mother. My gaze turned to Adaira, who was smiling up at me with absolutely no shame. Hm. Maybe seventy-six per cent certainty.
‘Sit down, you granite-headed ligger!’ she ordered me, with far too much determination for a little squirt of a girl who, only a few years ago, was dribbling gruel on her nappy. Females! You leave for a decade or two, and all of a sudden they think they’re grown up and entitled to their own opinions. ‘Mother wants to talk to you.’
‘You don’t say. I hadn’t noticed.’
This was a waste of my time. I had to get back to my business. My documents.
Documents which just happen to be in the same room as a certain lady.
Irrelevant. Ignore.
Clamping down on my urge to march out of the room, I perched down on the plush blue monstrosity that passed for furniture in my mother’s eyes. I sank seven point thirty-two inches into the thing before decelerating and coming to a stop.
‘Well, um…Ricky…’
‘Yes, Mother?’
My mother’s fingers started nervously stitching again. Only, she wasn’t paying particularly much attention to what her hands were doing. Right now, the needle was in the process of adding a third wing to the bird’s backside.
‘Well…I was wondering how things…how things are going with you.’
‘Not.’
She blinked at me. ‘Pardon?’
‘I’m not going. I’m sitting. While not getting any work done, I might add.’
My sister shifted in her seat and, with a dexterity that was almost enough to distract me, managed to kick me in the process. I put another scratch on the mental list of things to talk over with my little sister as soon as I managed to get her alone.
‘No, what I meant was…’ Blushing, my mother glanced sideways. Meanwhile, her nervous fingers added a fourth wing to the bird’s bottom, and a beak to his left foot. ‘I noticed you’ve been spending quite a lot of time with—’
No. Don’t say it. Do. Not. Say. It.
‘—Miss Linton lately.’
I regarded her for a moment in silence. Then…
‘Indeed?’
Ayla gave me another kick. This time without pretending to shift in her seat.
‘Go on, big brother! Spill!’
Reaching for one of the tea cups on the tray next to the sofa, I spilled a few drops of the contents onto the saucer.
‘Sufficient?’
She glared at me with an expression I had once seen on the face of a hungry African hyena just before she leapt on her prey.
‘Brother…’
I raised both shoulders precisely two millimetres. ‘I prefer to deposit liquid in my stomach.’
Then, before my sister had any more chance to emulate raptor behaviour, I redirected my attention to my mother. Her eyes were still focused on me with deep love and concern.
Fortunately, I was immune to such distracting phenomena.
‘Is there a…connection between you and Miss Linton?’ she enquired.
‘Certainly there is.’ I took another sip of tea. ‘She is my secretary’s sister.’
My mother’s busy fingers sped up. She was still adding wings to her embroidery. This time, it didn’t appear to be attached to any bird, but flying free towards the sky. Her eyes seemed to be similarly inclined to avoid any contact. They were jumping from one corner of the room to another, never focusing on anything for long. She was working up to something.
Leave. Now.
‘That’s not what I meant, Rick. What I meant to ask was…Is there something developing there?’
‘I currently have a number of properties in development. Several in London, some in Manchester, and a number in—’
‘That…that wasn’t what I’m talking about either.’ Her hands sped up even more, starting to embroider a….tentacle? Or was it spaghetti? I was not entirely certain. ‘I’m talking about you and Miss Linton.’
Miss Linton. Miss Linton, who was currently sitting upstairs, guarded only by a maid. A strange, cold feeling started to trickle down my spine. Not just any cold trickle—a cold trickle that bothered me. That was new.
I shifted.
Get a hold of yourself. She is perfectly safe. Feelings, whether yours or other people’s, are not relevant in the matter.
‘Rick!’ Abruptly turning to fully face me, my mother gazed up at me. She was wringing her hands, and with them the four-winged, tentacle-armed, spaghetti-wielding birds. Pity. It had been the only mildly interesting piece of embroidery I had ever seen. ‘I…know we’re not particularly close, son. But…I’m your mother. I care about you. And this tendency of yours to shut yourself off from people who care for you, to be as cold and distant as an icy mountain…. Please, try to overcome it for my sake. Whenever I try to open up to you, you turn away and—’
From above, through the ceiling, I heard a sudden thud. My head whipped around.
‘Yes,’ Adaira commented from behind. ‘Just like that.’
I didn’t listen. My ears, my eyes, my entire being was centred on the ceiling. Had I just imagined it?
‘Rikkard?’ Someone took hold of my sleeve. My mother? Sister? The underfootman? The doorknob? Irrelevant! The question right now was: what had that noise been? ‘This is just what I’m talking about! You need some warmth in your life, some emotion. There’s a lovely girl upstairs, who I’m sure would be delighted to spend some time with you. It’s Christmas, the time of love and companionship! This is no time to be rushing off to your next business meeting or some dusty documents that—’
Another thump came from upstairs, this time unmistakable.
‘Excuse me,’ I bit out, and tore my sleeve free of her grip. ‘I have some documents to attend to!’
In three steps, I was at the door. Pushing it open, I rushed out into the corridor.
‘Rick! Where are you going? You can’t run away from things forever!’
If only that was what I was doing. But I wasn’t running away. I was running towards something. Towards the only thing that mattered—besides my safe combination.
‘Karim!’ My command cut through the air like a whip. Moments later, a door somewhere in the distance crashed open, and thunderous footsteps approached. Moments later, a familiar mountainous figure appeared beside me. Never had I been so glad to see him. Or glad to see anyone. Or just glad, for that matter. I was glad. And scared. I was exhibiting emotions. What in Mammon’s name was going on?
‘Upstairs!’ I bit out, taking the first three steps with a leap.
‘The Sahiba?’
‘Yes!’
More words weren’t necessary.
We reached the upstairs landing in three point five seven seconds. Tearing down the corridor, I reached into my pocket for my revolver.
It won’t be necessary. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. She must be fine!
If I gave the universe a firm enough order, it had to obey. It had to!
Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself until the smell hit my nose. Leaping forward, I kicked open the door—
Only to find an empty room, filled only by the lingering odour of chloroform.