Looking down at his papers again, Mr Ambrose gestured to a pile of files and a box beside him on the desk. ‘Deposit these in that box over there, will you?’

I gaped at him, speechless. It was five in the morning!

When, after a few moments, he noticed that I still hadn’t moved, he looked up again. Mr Ambrose would never go so far as to actually raise a questioning eyebrow, but he didn’t need to.

‘You are still standing, although I gave you an order. Any particular reason?’

‘Do you sleep here or what?’ I demanded indignantly.

He looked down again.

‘Why so interested in my sleeping arrangements, Mr Linton? Were you thinking of joining me? If so, I must disappoint you. I do have a bed here, but it would not be wide enough.’

Several things ran through my mind at the moment which I could throw at him, none of which were fit for polite conversation and all of which were likely to get me sacked on the spot. I swallowed my anger and hoped it wouldn’t give me indigestion.

Instead I said: ‘I am three hours early, Mr Ambrose.’

He nodded.

‘Yes, I noticed. Now stop dawdling and take care of those files. Return to me when you are done. Since you are here, I have something else for you to do.’

I went and got the files, praying vehemently that the ‘something’ he wanted me to do involved a sharp sword and the severing of his head from his body. In no time at all I was back in front of his desk, and I still had not exploded or run to get sharp weapons. I was rather impressed with myself.

‘The files are stored as ordered, Mr Ambrose, Sir,’ I said in as sweet a tone as I could manage.

‘I see.’

No ‘Well done’ or ‘Thank you’. He didn’t even raise his head from his papers.

‘Sir? What is it you wished me to do?’

‘To wait until I have finished reading. Then I will give your instructions.’

I closed my eyes and slowly counted to ten to calm myself. Unfortunately, it didn’t work, so I continued to fifteen and then to twenty. But when I reached fifty, I was still just as infuriated as I had been at one. Did he have to be so… cool? So distant?

51, 52, 53…

Well, he was Mr Ambrose, so he was naturally about as warm and welcoming as a freshly calved iceberg, but still. It aggravated me more now than it had before, having seen, in contrast, his infatuated behaviour towards that bloody female the other night at the ball.

64, 65, 66, 67…

And of course he had to have horrible taste in ladies! I wouldn’t have minded if she had been a halfway decent creature, but this Hamilton person was a femme fatale and would leach all the life and money he had out of him.

‘Mr Linton?’

79, 80, 81…

I was incredulous that he couldn’t see it or that he couldn’t find a better woman.

‘Mr Linton!’

He should be able to find another. After all, he was, I had to admit, abominably handsome. Very, very handsome…

97, 98, 99…

‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, I am talking to you!’

‘What?’ My eyes flew open and I blinked at Mr Ambrose, who was staring at me coolly over the top of his business papers.

‘Mr Linton, I have called your name about five times now and you have been just standing there with your eyes closed. If you are not fully awake yet, I had rather you return home and waste your own time sleeping there than waste my time here. There is work to do.’

I raised my chin and met his gaze unflinchingly.

‘I am completely awake, Sir.’

‘Indeed? Then go and fetch a small leather-bound volume out of the left part of the lowest drawer of your desk. And keep your eyes open while you are walking, will you? I would hate for you to walk against a wall by accident.’

I managed a smile, though I doubt it was very polite.

‘Thank you for the concern for my welfare, Sir.’

He had put his papers aside now, but still he hadn’t looked up. Instead, he was methodically arranging them into several small piles.

‘Who said anything about your welfare, Mr Linton? Stone walls are quite expensive, and I would not like to have to spend money on repairing any cracks.’

I got out of there before I committed a justifiable murder, and marched through my office towards the desk. Of course he had been right, blast him. There was indeed a small, leather-bound book in the lowest drawer of the desk, in the back left corner. I retrieved it and opened it out of curiosity.

‘Bring it directly to me,’ his voice sounded from the other room. ‘There’s nothing in there that would interest you particularly, I can promise you.’

I did not blush as easily as Ella, but my face might have just been a tiny bit red when I returned to Mr Ambrose’s office, the book in hand. Stopping in front of the large, dark wood desk, I held it out to Mr Ambrose. He waved me away.

‘Keep it. It is your responsibility now.’

‘But… you didn’t want me to look inside?’

‘I didn’t want you to waste time on idle curiosity. Remember: Knowledge is power is time is money.’

‘I would have gained knowledge if you had let me read it,’ I pointed out, my rebellious spirit flaring.

He considered this, the coldness in his eyes for a moment replaced by thoughtfulness. Then something sparked there. Surely I was mistaken, but for just a fraction of a second, it looked almost like… humour?

‘True. You may take it home with you and study it in your leisure hours. I shall expect that you have fully familiarized yourself with it by tomorrow morning.’

My mouth popped open in astonishment.

‘What?!’ I demanded. He wanted me to work even after I was out of here?

He looked at me, not a trace of humour in his face anymore. ‘First you stand around with your eyes closed, now your ears don't seem to be working? I must say, I am quite disappointed in you, Mr Linton.’

I straightened.

‘There is no call for that, I assure you, Sir. I shall have the book memorized by tomorrow, Sir.’ I don't think that anybody had ever managed to make the word 'Sir' sound so much like 'slug'. Mr Ambrose, though, didn’t seem to notice.

‘Then we can proceed immediately. Go to the current week.’

‘W-what?’

‘I am becoming tired of hearing that word, Mr Linton. Go to the current week in the book you are holding. It is an appointment book. It holds my appointments over the year, which is divided into months, which again are divided into weeks. You do know what a week is, Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir. I do, Sir.’

‘How fortunate. Go to the current week.’

Quickly, I flitted through the volume until I had found the appropriate page.

‘It is your task to enter and keep track of all appointments. If I forget, it is your duty to remind me in time.’

I looked up, raising an eyebrow.

‘You forget appointments?’

‘No. In fact I have never forgotten a single appointment in my life. However, better safe than sorry.’

‘Is that one of your principles, like the knowledge-power-money thing?’

‘You could say so.’

‘Maybe I should start a list to keep track of all the wisdom you impart to me.’

‘What you should keep track of, Mr Linton, are my appointments. Now, can we return to the matter at hand?’

‘Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir!’

He started rattling off dates at an incredible rate, detailing when and where he was to go exactly. The list went from various factories to places at the harbour, several banks, business associations and meetings. Whatever his business interests were, exactly, they were many and varied. I did my best to take all the dates down in a legible manner, and did pretty well, I think, until he dropped the bomb.

‘At three pm on Saturday, I shall be attending the opera.’

I left a blot of ink on the page.

‘What?’

He looked up at me with those cool, sea-blue eyes of his.

‘There is that word again. Are you particularly fond of it, Mr Linton?’

‘Don’t change the subject,’ I accused him. ‘You attend the opera?’

‘Yes.’

‘You do not consider such a frivolous activity to be a waste of your time and money?’

‘No.’

‘And why not, if I may ask?’

‘Because I own it.’

‘Oh.’

‘I like to keep the management on their toes. And the ballet dancers as well.’

I blinked. Had he just made a joke? His face told me otherwise. It was as stony as ever. But nobody could be that serious, could they?

The opera…

Suddenly, a thought shot through my mind. A very annoying thought in a green ball gown.

‘Will anybody be going with you?’ I enquired suspiciously.

Like Miss Hamilton, for instance? Or the writer of the pink letters? Or… both?

‘Is that any business of yours, Mr Linton?’

‘It is if you want me to procure tickets for you.’

‘I see.’

He thought for a moment, tapping with his fingers on the desk, looking away from me, out of the window and over the city of London. I waited with bated breath.

‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘I think somebody will be going with me. Procure two tickets for the opera.’

Somebody? Somebody? Was he torturing me on purpose? Did he know that I was dying to know? There wasn’t the slightest indication of it on his face. But then, when was there ever any indication of anything on his face? He was as easy to see through as a brick wall and just as friendly.

‘Anybody in particular?’ I asked, and immediately regretted it. After all, he shouldn’t be thinking I was… interested in him in any way, which I clearly was not.

He swivelled around and fixed me with his cool gaze again. ‘Why do you ask? Do opera tickets have to bear names nowadays?’ If it hadn’t been Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I could have sworn there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Blast it! Blast me! And blast the opera! Who needed Mozart and Meyerbeer anyway?

I hid my face behind the appointment book and wished it were larger. ‘Just curious.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Any more appointments, Sir?’

Mercifully we moved on from the subject of opera, and he kept me busy enough writing down more appointments that I didn’t even think too much about Miss Hamilton. When I was finally finished with the thirty-sixth appointment, he nodded curtly.

‘Give me the book and let me see.’

Handing him the book, I waited for his judgement. I knew my handwriting wasn’t very good, and he had talked with the speed of a Spinning Jenny. His face was, as ever, indecipherable as he studied the page, giving me no clue as to what he might be thinking. Finally, he closed the book with a snap.

‘Adequate,’ he said. ‘You managed to take it down without leaving anything out, which is more than I can say of my last five secretaries.’

It took me a moment to realize that this had actually been a compliment. When I did, a ridiculous grin spread over my face. What was wrong with me? Why did his approval give me this warm, fuzzy feeling inside, like drinking hot chocolate on a cold winter morning?

Except hot chocolate didn’t stare at me so disapprovingly. Not ever.

‘If you’re quite done exhausting your facial musculature needlessly, Mr Linton, then perhaps we can move on with work?’

‘Yes, Sir! Just as you say.’

‘Put this away again.’ He handed me the appointment book. ‘Remember, you’re responsible for it.’

Still exhausting my facial muscles in what I thought was a definitely not needless expression of satisfaction, I hurried back into my office. As I bent to open the drawer, the appointment book slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor, opening at the previous week. Picking it up, I saw that the week was covered with appointments: Mr Ambrose must have left his office without telling me. All the appointments were written down in a familiar neat and precise hand.

He had been keeping track of his own appointments! It had been silly of me not to think of this, really. After all, it was a secretary’s job to take care of appointments, so why had it not been part of mine?

The answer was evident: because he didn’t trust me to handle them! Had he been afraid that - silly, overexcited female that I supposedly was - I would send him to a brothel-house in the east end instead of the Bank of England? A storm of indignation began to brew in me, and the barometer of my temper slowly rose. But then I suddenly remembered that now he had entrusted me with the appointment book.

Did this mean he was finally coming around? Was he beginning to accept me? Maybe soon I could drop this ridiculous charade of pretending to be a man, and he would stop calling me ‘Mr Linton’.

An image flashed in front of my eyes: I, entering the big hall downstairs, in an undoubtedly feminine dress, my head held high, going up to work for one of London’s most powerful businessmen. The first ever lady to earn her own way in this world…

‘Mr Linton!’

Blast!

Just like that, a cold voice from the neighbouring room shattered my daydream. Quickly, I put the appointment book away and made my way back to my employer’s office. Not quickly enough for his taste, though, apparently.

‘What did I tell you, Mr Linton?’

I straightened, knowing exactly what he wanted me to hear.

‘That knowledge is power is time is money, Sir!’

‘Which means you have to be what…?’

‘Quick and efficient, Sir!’

‘Indeed. Now go to your desk, get notepaper and a pen.’

Wondering what the heck he wanted me to do now, I fetched the required items and returned, receiving no admonishment this time.

‘I have a business letter to write,’ he declared when I had taken up my station beside his desk, a notepad in hand. ‘Obviously, you are not what I wish for in a secretary and have very limited abilities, but my handwriting is not elegant enough for official letters, and I need somebody to do this. It might as well be you.’

I tried my best not to look at him. Having just seen a sample of his handwriting, I knew there was nothing whatsoever wrong with it. In fact, his clear, precise script was one of the most beautiful hands I had ever seen. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and I hid behind the notepad. I had been right. He was beginning to accept me, even if he’d rather die than admit it.

‘The letter is to a very important business partner of mine,’ he warned. ‘Make one mistake, and I shall be very displeased.’

I couldn’t help remembering what had happened to the last guy that had ‘displeased’ him: hauled off by Karim into the misty alleys of London, never to be seen again. But surely he wouldn’t do something like that to me simply for making a mistake in a business letter, would he?

Um… would he?

He went off before I had a chance to ponder this further. If I’d thought his listing of appointments had been fast, it was nothing to how he raced through that letter. He seemed to have it all perfectly written out in his head already, and was just reading off a wall in front of his inner eye. Not once did he stumble or think in enumerating figures, trade routes, factories and a million other things I had never even heard of before.

By the time we had finished, I had filled five pages and my hand was screaming for a relaxing bath in hot water. With my left hand, because my right one was on strike right now, I picked up the handwritten pages and offered them to Mr Ambrose.

He let his cold gaze wander over them. I held my breath again.

Please, God, no mistakes, no mistakes, no mistakes…

‘Passable,’ he allowed.

Thank the Lord! It had to be faultless. If there had been any mistakes, I was sure he could not have resisted pointing each one out to me before dismissing me for failing in my duty.

‘Try to remember next time that you are a human being writing, not a hen with inky feet running all across a sheet of paper,’ he added.

I pursed my lips, suppressing the urge to go for his throat.

‘Any other constructive criticism, Sir?’

‘No, that is it for now.’

He grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled something which he then handed to me. ‘Here. Address the letter to this address and put it out on Stone’s desk. Stone will take care of posting it.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Taking the letter from him, I hurried back into my office and did as I had been told. Inside of me, conflicting emotions were fighting a fierce battle. The appointment book, the letter… was he beginning to trust me, or was I reading too much into this?

Yes, a nasty little voice inside me said. You are.

Bloody hell! But I wanted so much for him to trust me!

You may want anything you like - that doesn’t mean you’ll get it.

After his parting words last time we had been at work together, when he had practically threatened to find an excuse to get rid of me, I had been plagued by anxiety. I remembered so well our words before we had parted.

‘I have my own empire and consequently must deal with my own espionage and fight my own wars, Mr Linton. Right now, a war is coming.’

‘A… war? Over one piece of paper?’

‘Yes. A war. Possibly the biggest I’ve ever fought. I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire. I cannot have a girl being in danger!’

But did these words still count? Somehow, after what had happened today, I felt a strange mix of hope and fear inside me.

But it’s fear that’s the biggest part, isn’t it?

Bloody hell! Sometimes I really wished that inner voice of mine would shut up! I needed this position, more than ever now, and not just for myself. I didn’t know how things were going to go with Ella, but there was always the worst possibility of all: that she would end up alone and disgraced, forsaken by her family and her so-called lover, and maybe even with child. Things like that had happened before. Now and then you read about such a scandal in the papers. Young love run mad…

If it came to that, I would be there to save her, with enough money to take care of her. That, I had sworn to myself.

Angrily, I stepped out into the hallway and slammed the letter onto Mr Stone’s desk. I shouldn’t think like this! I shouldn’t give up hope. There was still time to discover a way to scare off Wilkins. Yet with every second that passed, I felt the darkness circle closer around my little sister. I needed this job! I had to keep it!

But it’s not really up to you, is it? It’s up to that stone-faced bastard in the office over there. Do you think he’ll ever really accept you for who you are?

Well, there was one way to find out. One way to see whether his earlier doubts about me had been laid to rest.

Swallowing my apprehension, I returned to his office and made a little bow, which he didn’t seem to notice.

‘Letter deposited as ordered, Sir.’

‘I see. Then I have another task for you. I-’

‘Sir?’

He looked up, and I might actually have detected a miniscule morsel of surprise on his face. Surprise that anyone, even such a despicable creature as I, dared to interrupt him.

‘Yes, Mr Linton?’

‘I have a question, Sir.’

Carefully he put down his papers and intertwined his fingers, regarding me over them like a sharpshooter taking aim.

‘Indeed? Well, then fire away.’

I swallowed.

‘Have we found out where the stolen file is, yet, Sir? When are we going after it?’

Mr Ambrose’s intertwined fingers clenched hard.

‘We?’ His cool voice had a dangerous undertone - and overtone and middle tone, if I was being absolutely honest. ‘We have not found anything nor will we find anything, because in we, a you would be included, Mr Linton. And you will have no further part in the search for the missing documents. I thought I already made that abundantly clear.’

This was what I had been afraid of.

‘Not clear enough for me,’ I shot back, matching his cold tone with fire. ‘Why shouldn’t I help?’

‘Because you will only be a liability. Keep to office work, Mr Linton, and leave the darker parts of this life to real men.’

The words hit me like a fist in the stomach. I didn’t know exactly why - I mean, he was right, of course, that underneath the trousers I was still absolutely female. It wasn’t the words so much as the way he said them - real men, as if men were something special, something stronger, something better than women.

So this was how things stood. Nothing had changed. He was prepared to keep me, to let me work for him, but not as he would let another work for him. He was being charitable to the poor, mad girl who wanted to earn a living. Rage welled up inside of me!

‘There is no need to concern yourself in any case,’ he continued. ‘Clues have been discovered as to the whereabouts of the mastermind behind the theft. Warren and his men are out on the streets searching for his hideout as we speak. They will soon discover it and this will be taken care of.’

‘Why won’t you let me help?’ I demanded. ‘You did last time, in the search for Simmons.’

‘That was different.’

‘Different how?’

His eyes took on a whole different level of coldness. They seemed to be staring off into icy distances, over the endless expanse of the Arctic, or some similarly desolate place I couldn’t even imagine.

‘That, Mr Linton, was before I found out who is behind this.’

‘Well, who is it then? Who is this mystery man you are so scared of?’

His eyes snapped back from the distance onto me, flashing.

‘I am not scared, Mr Linton. I am cautions. There is a difference.’

I bit back a comment. Men and their egos. ‘Very well, then. Who is this man you are so cautious of?’

Silence.

‘Why won’t you tell me?’ My voice grew louder as my anger rose.

Silence.

‘Will you at least tell me what’s in this file that is worth killing for?’

Silence.

‘Will you tell me anything at all?’

Silence. Really extraordinary silent silence.

He sat there, glowering, and I stood in front of him, fuming. How quickly things had turned from a relatively companionable work mood into a fierce battle.

‘Um… excuse me?’

Both our heads jerked towards the door. We had been so consumed by our argument that neither of us had noticed how Mr Stone had poked his head into the room. He was nervously playing with his bow tie, his eyes flicking from one of us to the other.

‘I am deeply sorry to disturb you, Mr Ambrose,’ he hastened to assure his employer, ‘only I needed to deliver this memorandum.’ He held up a piece of paper. ‘I knocked twice, but you probably did not hear me over all the… err… shouting.’

‘Well, don't just stand there like an ape, man, give it to me!’ Mr Ambrose snapped, his voice not so devoid of emotion as usual. Mr Stone rushed forward, deposited the memorandum on his master’s desk and got out of the danger zone as quickly as possible. The door fell shut behind him.

‘Why can’t you accept me?’ Strangely, my voice was soft now. Soft and muted. ‘Why can’t you let me do the work that needs to be done, whether harmless or dangerous?’

He met my eyes without flinching.

‘You know why.’

‘Because I am a lady?’

Silence.

‘Talk to me!’

Silence.

‘The search for the file…’ I began again, but a raised hand from Mr Ambrose stopped me in mid-sentence.

‘You want to work for me?’ he snapped. ‘Really, seriously work for me? All right. If it’s work you want, it’s work you’re going to get. Bring me file 38XI201.’

‘The search…’

‘I said bring me file 38XI201!’

What could I do? He was my employer, it was his prerogative to tell me what to do. Honestly, I wondered as I went searching for the appropriate box, maybe Ella and I should just move into the workhouse voluntarily. Surely, the tyranny of the workhouse foreman and the tyranny of Mr Ambrose would be much the same?

Well, I was wrong about that. As I was about to find out, the tyranny of Mr Rikkard Ambrose could be much, much worse.

*~*~**~*~*

‘Bring me file 38XI205! Take this note to stone! Hurry! Here, the safe key! Go and fetch the steam engine model from the safe. No, not that one, the one with two pistons and the larger exhaust outlet. Move faster! If you dawdle so much you’ll never get your work done. Where is that file?’

That’s how it went on all day. He harried me like a pack of vengeful harpies, chasing me from this task to that, and when that was done to these and those and numerous others. It wasn’t long until my feet began to ache and I had numerous paper cuts on my fingers from hastily leafing through files. When I got bloodstains on one of them, he accused me of wilfully damaging company material and ordered me to stop bleeding.

‘How about if I bandage my finger?’ I hissed at him.

‘Too time-consuming. Just stop bleeding, and that’s the end of it!’

I could see exactly what he was doing, but I wasn’t giving in. No matter how much he hounded me, I wouldn’t collapse and admit it was too much, or he was being unfair! I would give him no leverage, no reason to throw me out!

Without pause, I worked as long as I could, but at some point came the time when I had to step up to his desk and say: ‘Um… Mr Ambrose? I have to powder my nose again.’

‘You nose looks fine. Continue working.’

‘Mr Ambrose, do we have to have another talk about euphemisms?’

He hesitated for a moment.

‘Oh. That kind of nose-powdering?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Fine!’ he snapped. Motioning with his hand to the door of his private bathroom, he gave me a curt nod. ‘Go. But be quick about it!’

‘I shall do my very best, Sir,’ I answered sardonically.

The rest of the day continued pretty much the same. About mid-day, when he had sent me into the file section to retrieve a box, I devoured a sandwich I had brought with me for lunch. It wasn’t much, but it kept me going until the sun finally began to sink and the moment was approaching when I could finally stop this torture and go home

The moment arrived and went away. Mr Ambrose gave no indication of wanting to stop. I heard Mr Stone outside in the hall pack up and leave, but Mr Ambrose stayed behind his desk, shooting orders at me in rapid succession.

The storm clouds of my temper rumbled dangerously. He had no right to do this! I had worked the whole day, in fact three hours longer than I was supposed to, and he was still making me work overtime for no reason.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He had a reason: wanting to get rid of me. It just wasn’t a very nice one.

Finally, when, over an hour after Mr Stone had left, he still showed no sign of wanting to leave, I snapped. Marching up to his desk, I dumped the last box of files onto it with an earth-shattering thump.

‘This isn’t going to work, you know!’ I announced, glaring at him in defiance. ‘No matter how much work you heap on me, you can’t make me quit!’

He looked up, regarding my angry face over the top of the box.

‘Yes, I can see that.’

‘So are you going to give up?’ I demanded.

His eyes glittered dangerously. Rising from his armchair, he slowly leant forward until our faces were only inches apart, and his dark, sea-coloured eyes became pools beckoning me to drown myself in them.

‘Give up?’ he breathed. ‘Hardly. I shall simply have to find another method to… persuade you.’

*~*~**~*~*

When I finally left the office, I still had goose bumps all over my body.

Another method to persuade me… to persuade me to leave… I wondered what that might be. Whatever he was thinking of, I wasn’t looking forward to it - not after he said it in that tone of voice.

Really? You little liar!

I told myself most firmly to shut the hell up! At the moment I was just too tired to think much about it or anything else for that matter. I only wanted a nice, soft bed after a long day at work. Still, I had to go through the cumbersome process of changing clothes before I could approach the front of the house. Sighing, I finally stepped through the front door, wishing I were already upstairs.

‘Lilly!’

My head whipped around to see my aunt standing right beside me. She had to have been waiting there, behind the door, ready to pounce on me the moment I came in.

‘Where were you?’ she demanded, her eyes glittering dangerously. ‘You’ve been gone the whole day!’

Ah, so she had finally caught on to my frequent day-long absences, had she? Amazing what caring surrogate parent she was: it had only taken her a couple of weeks.

Lucky for me, I had a plan ready.

I winked. ‘You remember the gentleman from the ball the other day?’

Her frown lifted a bit. ‘You mean…’

‘I won’t name names of course,’ I said, hoping fervently she wouldn’t make me, because I didn’t have any. ‘But you know… I’ve been seeing a little more of him recently.’

‘Oh.’ Her eyes went wide. ‘Oh, if that’s the case…’

She smiled. She actually smiled. ‘Good girl! Now, off to bed with you!’

Thanking God that I had gotten off so lightly, I scampered up the stairs. Beautifully! That’s how it had worked, simply beautifully! I would have to come up with a new story soon, of course, as soon as she realized there were no flowers or presents arriving for me. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Up in our shared room, Ella was waiting for me. She sat on her bed and looked up at me with a timidly hopeful smile.

‘Have you been out with your young man again?’

I didn’t really see the point of saying no. I had been lying so frequently lately, it had almost become second nature to me. And anyway, this wasn’t technically a lie. I had been with a young man. An incredibly rich, intimidating man whose head I wanted to rip off and feed to piranhas at the moment, but he was still a young man.

‘Yes.’

Ella’s cautious smile bloomed into full radiance.

‘Really? Did it go well?’

Well, he worked me over pretty hard, I bled a little, and he gave me permission to use his toilet. Nice, isn’t he?

All true, but I didn’t say that. Instead I plastered a smile on my face and told her: ‘Yes, very well indeed. I think we’re getting to know each other better.’

‘Come and sit down.’ Ella reached out to me pleadingly. ‘Tell me about him.’

Oh Dear God…

Was this a good idea?

Of course not, you idiot! Of course not! Lie your way out of this right away!

I opened my mouth - but Ella was sitting there, all sweet and innocent and eager. ‘Oh, Lilly, I know you can’t mention his name or anything,’ she assured me. ‘I just want to know what kind of man he is, how you two get along, how you feel about him. Please.’

She looked up at me with big, pleading doey eyes. Damn! Sisters like that should be illegal! Without really meaning to, I took two steps forward and sat down on the bed beside her, putting my arms around her.

‘All right,’ I said, smiling encouragingly. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well… how long have you two known each other?’

Well, that was easy. I could just tell the truth.

‘A couple of weeks, now.’

‘And how many assignations have you had yet?’ she whispered, leaning closer, an eager look in her eyes.

Darn! This wasn’t so easy any more. What should I say? I go to him every day because he pays me for it?

If I said that, she would be jumping to conclusions about my relationship with Mr Ambrose that were even worse than the truth, and her screams of horror would alert the entire household.

‘Um… assignations…’ Desperately I grabbed for a number. My mind seized on Mr Ambrose’s date book. ‘Thirty-six,’ I blurted out. ‘Thirty-six assignations.’

‘Oh. That is quite a lot.’

It was. And all in one day, too. The fact that I had only noted them down, not actually been there, I chose not to mention.

‘And…’ Ella leaned closer, lowering her voice as if now the really important part began. ‘And how do you feel about him?’

Oh bloody heck! More lying. Well, I supposed it was unavoidable.

I bit my lip.

‘I… care about him. But he’s difficult, you know? Taciturn and cool, and not very free with his money. He keeps me at arm’s length, which isn’t easy to deal with sometimes. But underneath it all, he’s really important to me.’

Goodness, was I doing an amazing job! My lies were delivered brilliantly, in just the right tone of voice with just the right amount of nervous hesitation. I could see on Ella’s face that she believed me. Heck, I very nearly believed myself, although I knew of course it was all codswallop. Mr Ambrose was a source of income, nothing more, nothing less.

‘Lill, I… I know you don't want Aunt to know about him.’

Darn right I didn’t! If my aunt found out what I really was doing during my supposedly romantic escapades, she would have a coronary! Worse, she would recover from it and come after me!

‘So I’m guessing,’ Ella continued cautiously, ‘that he’s not very respectable or not very wealthy.’

I smirked. Ella had always lost guessing games. She couldn’t have been more wrong in this case. From what I had gathered, half the mothers in London were out to get Rikkard Ambrose for their maiden daughters, and the other half was not similarly engaged only because Lord Dalgliesh was also in town.

‘So… have you ever thought about running away with him?’

The question hit me like a steam engine. So that was what this was all about! I had wondered why, this late in the evening, she would be here in her room and not outside in the garden with Edmund. Now I knew! He was out forging his escape plans, and she was seeking reassurance. And who better to give her that than her big sister, who just also happened to have romantic troubles?

Or at least in Ella’s imagination.

Curse my lies! They had turned out to be bleeding inconvenient!

I cleared my throat, trying to banish a mental image of Mr Ambrose slinging me over his shoulder and dragging me to the nearest altar. ‘Um… not really. We aren’t really quite that far in our relationship.’

Damn right you aren’t! For example, you’ll first have to get an actual relationship! One that involves more than me carrying around files and jumping at his every command, that is!

‘But if he asked you,’ Ella insisted, clearly determined to get an answer, her eyes looking large and forlorn, ‘would you run away with him?’

Unbidden, the image of Mr Ambrose slinging me over his shoulder shoved its way back into my thoughts. Of course we wouldn’t embark on our elopement in a comfortable coach - a chaise would have to do, if we wouldn’t walk. Real carriages were, after all, much too expensive. And we wouldn’t get married by special license either, for that cost money, too. Once we had gotten married in some country church by a young priest who didn’t ask too much of a fee, we would return to London and spend our honeymoon sorting through the business correspondence that had arrived in our absence.

I shook my head at the absurd image, and a smile crept onto my lips.

‘Of course.’ The words had slipped out before I had even noticed. ‘Of course I would run away with him.’

God! This was taking the convincing lying a bit far, wasn’t it? After all, I wanted to dissuade her from eloping, not encourage her! What was I doing?

I was of course being sarcastic and insincere, but Ella couldn’t know that, the poor girl! Somehow, when I spouted that outrageous lie just now, I had managed to make my voice sound horribly convincing!

‘Oh.’ Ella’s shoulders slumped and she looked even more lost than before. I had been right. She had been looking for advice on her own situation, and this obviously hadn’t been the answer she had been expecting. She had probably expected words of caution from her big sister.

‘That doesn't mean that you should, though,’ I added hastily. ‘If you ever were in that kind of situation, I mean, hypothetically. What I would do isn’t necessarily the best thing. You know I’m a reckless maniac who should probably be locked up for her own safety.’

‘Oh, Lill!’ Ella tried her best but couldn’t keep a smile off her face. ‘You shouldn’t say such things!’

‘Why not, if they make you smile?’ I teased and drew her closer towards me. ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Everything will be just fine.’

I was really an excellent liar. Later, when I lay in bed and watched Ella sleep with a peaceful smile on her face, I wondered how I had managed to give her so much reassurance. I certainly didn’t feel sure of myself or of my ability to help her. The unknown date when she would forever be snatched away from me was drawing closer.

What… what if I simply talked with her about it? Tried to talk her out of it?

But then I remembered the fire in her eyes when she had looked at Edmund, and I knew that talking wouldn’t do any good. It might only serve to destroy her trust in me. I only had one chance: find a way to get rid of Wilkins before it was too late! And I would do so, and I would make Mr Ambrose fully accept me, and the day after tomorrow I would challenge British chauvinism and demonstrate for women’s suffrage with my friends at the chauvinists’ convention in Hyde Park. I had a lot of obstacles in my way, but none of them were going to stop me! Least of all a certain detestable, handsome, rich businessman!

*~*~**~*~*

Taking a deep breath, I walked down the hallway. In passing, I nodded to Mr Stone.

‘Good morning, Mr Stone.

He smiled and nodded back at me.

‘Good morning, Mr Linton.’

For a moment I hesitated, wondering whether I should enter my own office, not that of Mr Ambrose. His words rang through my mind again: I shall simply have to find another method to… persuade you.

No matter how morbidly curious a part of me might be, I didn’t want to find out what that meant. I wasn’t suicidal.

Don’t be a chicken, Lilly! You know it’s far better to face his next attack head-on. If you don’t come directly into his office, he’s bound to see it as another attempt at time-wasting.

So I squared my shoulders, marched past Mr Stone’s desk and pushed open the door to Mr Ambrose’s office, ready for whatever might await me.

‘Ah, Mr Linton, there you are! How nice to see you! Come in, come in and make yourself comfortable.’

I was just over the threshold when the words and the scene before me registered, and I stopped in my tracks.

I had been wrong. I had not been ready for whatever awaited me. I certainly wasn’t ready for a Mr Rikkard Ambrose standing in front of me with a broad smile on his outrageously handsome face.