Late at night, long after I had come home from work, and long after I should have gone to bed, considering what awaited me tomorrow morning, I snuck up the stairs towards a very special room in our house. My only light was a solitary candle, throwing flickering shadows on the wall. In its faint glow, I could see the thick layer of dust on the wooden steps, broken only by a few solitary footprints.

God, Lilly…What are you going to do if he’s not up at this hour? Or worse, if he says no?

A stair creaked under my foot, and I froze. Except for me and the one I was going to visit, the entire family was deep asleep. Aunt Brank had no idea that I was up this late. If she had known, and if she’d had any idea what I was going to do, she would have been spitting fire.

You can only hope that he receives your plans better than she would.

It was probably a vain hope. But I had to try, at least.

Cautiously, I continued up the stairs and, at the top, continued down the hallway until I reached the solitary door that was my destination. Raising my hand, I knocked twice, softy.

‘Uncle Bufford?’

There was a moment of hesitation from behind the door, like the moment you would expect to pass if a vampire found someone knocking at the door of his coffin looking for blood donations. Then, a gruff, weary voice from inside called: ‘Enter.’

And I did.

It was dark inside the room. Only a single candle, burned down to a stump, illuminated Uncle Bufford’s study. He was sitting bent over his ledgers behind his massive oak desk, a frown on his face and a pipe jammed into the corner of his mouth. I knew that there wasn’t anything in the pipe. Uncle Bufford would die before spending a penny on anything as frivolous as tobacco. But the pipe was an heirloom from his great-grandfather, and it provided a convenient barrier that kept him from constantly gnashing his teeth together.

Just as he was trying to do now.

‘You?’

He pronounced the word as if London’s most wanted lecher and murderer had just entered his study.

‘Yes.’ I gave my best imitation of a demure curtsy. ‘Me.’

‘Put your candle out! Have you any idea how much candles cost, nowadays? One candle in the room is more than enough light!’

‘Yes, Uncle.’ Immediately, I moistened my fingers and extinguished the candle, giving him a look-how-obedient-I-am smile.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘You want something.’

Damn!

‘Why would you think that?’ I almost managed to make my voice sound injured.

‘Because people only ever come to see me when they want something. Usually money.’

‘Last time I saw you, I refused your money,’ I reminded him.

‘True.’ The frown on his gnarled old face loosened a little. ‘So - what is it that you want?’

I decided that it was no use beating around the bush. Uncle Bufford, like Mr Ambrose, was not an admirer of wasted time.

‘I’m going away on a trip, Uncle.’

‘Are you, now?’

‘I might be away for a while.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes.’

For a few moments, silence reigned. Then he asked a question I would never have expected.

‘Will you be safe on this trip?’

I had to work hard to keep my jaw from dropping. Uncle Bufford? Concerned?

I hesitated. What to say? Finally, I settled on the truth. ‘Probably not.’

‘But you’re still going.’

‘Yes.’

Uncle Bufford took his pipe out of his mouth and tapped it against his jaw. ‘Well, what did you come to see me for, then? Seems like your mind is already made up.’

‘I came because of Aunt Brank. I thought that maybe you could keep her from completely losing her mind over this.’

He raised one bushy eyebrow. ‘Your aunt lost her mind decades ago. Why would I waste my time trying to do anything about it now?’

‘Err…all right. Point taken.’

‘You don’t want me to pay you an allowance for this trip, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Because you’re not getting one.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got all the money I could want.’

‘Do you, now?’ He gave me a penetrating look. But, to my immense relief, he didn’t ask why or from where. Those simply weren’t the kind of questions Uncle Bufford would ask. Where money was concerned, he tended to focus on questions like ‘How much?’ and ‘How soon?’ - but only if he was going to get a share.

‘Your aunt isn’t the only reason you’re here, are you?’

Damn! I had forgotten how astute the old buzzard was.

‘No. She isn’t.’

‘So, who is the other one?’

Who. Not what. Bloody hell, he really was too astute for my liking.

‘Ella.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded, sliding the pipe back into his mouth.

‘Will you keep an eye on her while I’m gone?’

‘I never leave this room. You know that. I don’t tolerate company - especially the company of women.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘I am a woman. You haven’t thrown me out yet.’

‘You are going away for an extended period, and you don’t want money from me. I am feeling slightly more lenient towards you at the moment.’

Was that a smile playing around one corner of his mouth? His bloody beard was too thick to tell! I narrowed my eyes at him.

‘We’ve strayed from the subject, Uncle.’

‘Have we?’

‘Yes, we have. We were talking about Ella.’

‘You were talking. I was waiting for you to get to the point.’

‘The point is that I can’t leave without knowing that Ella will be taken care of. With the kind of marrymania Aunt is in right now, she might strike on the idea of offering Ella to this baronet as a replacement when she can’t get hold of me.’

Uncle Bufford nodded, thoughtfully. ‘Exchanging one unit for a newer and more elegant model - that’s a deal I wouldn’t say no to.’

I sent him a death-glare but didn’t follow it through with bodily violence. ‘I need someone to watch over her while I’m gone.’

He raised one bushy eyebrow. ‘And you immediately thought of me?’ If I hadn’t known better I would have sworn there was amusement in his eyes.

‘Not really. In fact, I thought of thirty-seven other candidates first.’

‘Only thirty-seven? I’m flattered.’

‘But they all lacked one essential quality.’

‘I’m intrigued. What is this special quality that makes me so unique?’

I took a step forward and fixed him with my best imitation-Ambrose stare. ‘The power to make decisions.’

He gave another, slower nod. There was understanding in his eyes. Understanding and…respect? ‘That is true.’

‘You have the ultimate power to decide Ella’s future.’

‘Also true.’

‘So, what I am asking you is: don’t.’

‘You want me to never give your sister a chance at marriage? At a different life? A future of her own?’

‘No. I want you to not make any rash decisions. Wait until I am back before you decide anything. Give me a chance to speak with my sister.’

His eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch further. ‘Really? And why can your sister not speak for herself?’

‘Because, although Ella is as beautiful as the Goddess of the Morning and as sweet as honey, she can be a bit of an idiot, sometimes.’

Uncle Bufford considered this for a few moments. ‘True.’

I regarded him warily. ‘So…will you do as I ask? Will you wait until I return?’

‘If a good marriage prospect presents itself-’

‘Even then! Especially then. Please, Uncle Bufford. This is important.’

He grunted and looked down at his ledgers again. ‘I won’t start parenting at my age!’

I had already opened my mouth to argue, when he added, gruffly: ‘But I won’t let her do anything foolish. I cannot abide foolishness.’

My shoulders sagged in relief.

‘Thank you.’

‘I also cannot abide women! Including you!’

I smiled a secret little smile. ‘Yes, Uncle.’

‘They’re nothing but work and needless expense!’

‘Of course, Uncle.’

I gave a curtsy and started to leave the room. I was already at the door when, from behind me, I heard a gruff voice murmur: ‘Be careful, will you?’

*~*~**~*~*

When I arrived the next morning at St Katherine’s Docks, Mr Ambrose was already there, overseeing a group of men loading crates and barrels on board his favourite vessel, the Mammon. The men looked exhausted. Mr Ambrose looked as fresh as frozen daisies.

I saluted. ‘Good morning, Sir! Here I am, present and correct.’

‘And late.’ Fishing his watch out of his pocket, he let it snap open. ‘You should have been here twenty-one seconds ago, Mr Linton.’

‘Not according to my watch, Sir.’

‘Then your watch is slow. Correct that fault, Mr Linton.’

‘Yes, Sir!’ I promised, secretly vowing to myself to pinch his watch sometime soon and put it back twenty-one seconds. Curiously, I let my gaze drift over all the men who were hard at work lugging stuff onto the ship - a lot more than any sensible man would need for a journey, let alone someone as frugal as Mr Ambrose. Besides, most of what they carried weren’t travel bags or trunks. They were crates and barrels.

‘What’s all this?’ I gestured to the men and their burdens.

‘Items.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I had already noticed that, Sir. Items for what?’

‘For sale. Since we are going all the way to South America, we might as well take some wares to trade. No reason not to make a little profit on this trip. It will probably be the only money we will make on this foolish excursion.’

‘Where will we be selling?’

‘In Argentina. I am expanding my business there. There is a lot of wealth in the country, but little industry. An ideal market for industrial goods.’

The last few crates were carried on board. A sailor appeared at the railing and waved to get our attention.

‘Mr Ambrose? Mr Ambrose, Sir? We’re ready to cast off!’

Mr Ambrose gave the man a curt nod, and he disappeared. Half turning towards me, my employer cocked his head. ‘You have the file with the English translation of the seventeenth-century manuscript?’

I padded my pocket. ‘All here, Sir.’

‘Adequate. I put you in charge of deciphering the directions, Mr Linton. I will have enough to do planning the sale of the wares and commanding the ship.’

‘Commanding the… Do you mean to say you plan to be at the helm yourself?’

‘Of course!’ He turned away and marched off towards the ship. ‘You don’t think I’d waste money on a captain, do you?’

‘No, Sir. Of course not, Sir.’

‘Hurry, Mr Linton! We haven’t got a minute to lose.’

‘I thought a sea journey like this takes weeks and weeks, Sir?’

‘All the more reason not to waste any time now!’

‘Yes, Sir!’

The moment we stepped on board, he called: ‘Haul in the gangplank!’

Never in my life had I seen any captain’s orders being obeyed that fast. In a matter of minutes, the sails were set, and we were moving towards the exit of the dock, the Thames awaiting us ahead. When we had just slipped out of the dock, I noticed two vessels veering off and following us.

‘What are those?’ I demanded, pointing.

Oh God! Please don’t let it be Lord Dalgliesh!

Mr Ambrose didn’t seem concerned, to judge by his expression. But, he being Mr Ambrose, his expression didn’t really mean much of anything. It wasn’t until he spoke that I was put at ease.

‘The Midas and the Croesus, Mr Linton. They will be accompanying us to Argentina.’

Midas? Croesus? With names like these, it wasn’t very hard to figure out who those ships belonged to. I stared at Mr Ambrose.

‘You own more than one ship? You have three?’

He returned my gaze, coolly. ‘I have a fleet of ships, Mr Linton. These are by no means the largest - although, after the Mammon, they are the fastest.’

I swallowed. Sometimes, I tended to forget the kind of wealth he commanded. I glanced back at the Midas and the Croesus, and couldn’t help notice that, for merchant vessels, they were unusually well armed.

‘Do you expect any trouble with pirates?’

‘No. No pirates.’

I had become quite skilled by now at interpreting the things Mr Ambrose didn’t say.

‘But you are expecting another kind of trouble?’ The kind that requires cannons and guns to survive?

All I got in answer was silence, and the lapping of the waves against the bow. I waited. Nothing came. Mr Ambrose stood on deck, so stiff and hard you might have suspected him of wanting to become the Mammon’s figurehead.

Oh, well… Why should I care if he didn’t want to talk? Whatever trouble awaited us in South America couldn’t possibly be worse than a gaggle of suitors and potential grooms, right?

No.

Wrong. So very wrong. But I didn’t know that back then.