Special Additional Material
A chapter from
Mr Ambrose’s Perspective
Can’t you read? This is none of your business! I am not going to tell you what you want - and most certainly not for free! Close this book and leave. Now!
…
Did you not hear me? That was an order!
…
Why are you still here? Did I not give explicit instructions for you to leave? Let me put it another way: you are dismissed. Scram! Scat! Get thee gone! I know what it is you want, but I am not going to do it! I am not going to tell you my story.
Why?
You dare ask why?
You have some nerve! Do you know who I am? No, you obviously don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t still be here, pestering me. Well, if you will not stop making a nuisance of yourself, you useless layabout, I’ll tell you why. Here are the reasons why I will not share my story, in order of significance:
10. It’s mine. I don’t share what’s mine.
9. I’m too busy.
8. Very busy indeed.
7. You are no more than a bug to me - easily squashed.
6. I don’t waste my time on bugs.
5. I don’t waste my time on anyone. Knowledge is power is time is money.
4. This story contains secrets of immeasurable value. Secrets must stay secret. That’s the point of a secret.
3. This story is mine. Do you hear? Mine! I don’t share. Not ever.
2. And it’s about her.
1. Remember what I said about never sharing?
…
You still haven’t left, have you?
You still want my story?
Well, I have to say I admire your persistence. If it is persistence, that is. More likely, you’re just too thick-headed to comprehend my warning.
Very well…
On your own head be it.
*~*~**~*~*
‘Ah! Just breathe in that breeze! Feel that air filling your lungs! A hundred of Neptune’s sea-horses couldn’t get me and my ship away from here again! Old Blighty, England, home - there she is! Isn’t it a wonderful sight, Sir?’
Silence.
‘And the weather - perfect for a coming home! Perfect for anything really! Smell that air, will you? I tell you, there’s no air anywhere in the world like good, clean English air! Don’t you think so, Sir?’
Silence.
‘Ah, I know what you’ll say! You’ll say I’m being sentimental!’
Silence.
‘But it ain’t that, Sir. I swear, it ain’t that. This old sailor’s been all around the world, from the Cape of Good Hope - which didn’t inspire me with much hope, let me tell you - to the rocky cliffs of Norway and back again, and let me tell you, there’s no place like Old Blighty!’
Silence.
‘The green hills, the fields, the decent ale - and the people! The people are always friendlier at home, don’t you think? I always say the French are stuck up, the Germans stiff, but Englishmen - you won’t find a single Englishman who isn’t kind, polite and warm.’
Stone-cold silence.
‘No wonder, considering. Who wouldn’t be cheerful on such a wonderful day! Ah, just breathe in the breeze, Sir, breathe in the breeze! Isn’t that wonderful weather, Sir?’
Icy eyes turned on the captain of the ship. My icy eyes.
‘Which part, Captain? The fog, the cold wind, or the drizzle?’
The captain, apparently immune to all forms of sarcasm, smiled brightly. ‘All of it! Isn’t it wonderful to be back in England? Admit it, you don’t get weather like this anywhere else.’
I shook my head to rid myself of the worst of the incessant wetness, and pulled my hat deeper into my face. ‘Indeed you do not.’
‘Aren’t you happy to be back home, Mr Ambrose?’
I threw the captain another look.
‘England is many things - but certainly not my home. I don’t have or need one.’
‘Ah, come on, Sir!’ A huge hand slammed into my back, and I had to suppress the instinctive reaction of grabbing it, twisting it and forcing its owner to his knees with a gun put to the side of his head. Old habits die hard. ‘Everybody has a home! After all the time you’ve been away in the colonies, I’m sure your family is going to give you a big, warm welcome back! Your mum and your old man will be tickled pink to see you!’
‘Captain?’
‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
‘We’re very close to the shore now.’
‘Yes, I know, Sir.’
‘But do you also know what that means, Captain?’
‘I’m afraid not, Sir.’
I gave the man a very meaningful look. ‘It means that I don’t need you anymore to reach my destination. Shut up or I will throw you over the side.’
‘Um… Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir. Of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’
After that, the captain didn’t seem to feel quite so jovial anymore. He made himself scarce. I didn’t even glance at his retreating back. Instead, I continued to stare at the distant cliffs of Dover, rising in front of us out of the mist.
Home…
A foreign concept to me. After years in the colonies, what was there about this place that could be home to me?
How about the Bank of England?
Not a bad thought, actually. I would have to see what could be done about buying it.
‘Sahib?’
Still, I didn’t turn. There was no need. I knew that voice coming from behind me.
‘Yes, Karim?’
‘The captain says we will approach the coast in about half an hour. He asks if you wish to land in London, or a place called Dover.’
‘London, Karim. I paid for the whole trip across the Atlantic, and I don’t plan to get off this ship before I reach my destination only to have to hire a coach to go the rest of the way.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
There were a few seconds of silence. And this time, they didn’t just come from me.
‘Sahib?’
‘Yes, Karim?’
‘Do you think he’s waiting for us? Dalgliesh, I mean. Does he have a surprise waiting for us?’
I glanced at my bodyguard. Behind the bristly barrier of his beard, his black eyes were narrowed, staring suspiciously at the shore.
‘Do you expect him to?’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
‘Then he won’t have a surprise waiting for us, Karim.’ Reaching into the pocket of my tailcoat, I pulled out my revolver and whirled the drum. All six chambers were loaded. ‘Something you expect is never a surprise.’
Even through the beard, I could see one corner of Karim’s mouth twitch. One of his massive hands curled around the hilt of his sabre. ‘Wise words, Sahib.’
I said nothing. Instead, I looked again towards the distant cliffs.
‘I shall go and check on the goods, Sahib.’
‘Do that.’
‘And… Sahib?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure you wish to go to London? Do you not want to sail somewhat farther North? Maybe to your fam-’
I felt a muscle in my cheek twitch.
‘Go check on the cargo, Karim,” I cut him off.
‘Are you sure? We could-’
‘Go!’
‘Yes, Sahib. As you wish, Sahib.’
*~*~**~*~*
There was a welcoming committee present when we arrived in the harbour. However, the committee did not consist of smiling family members. What a big surprise. The lights of cameras started flashing the moment I stepped onto the gangway.
‘Mr Ambrose! Mr Ambrose, why did you suddenly decide to come back to London after all those years?’
‘No comment!’
‘Mr Ambrose! A statement, please, Mr Ambrose!’
‘No comment!’
‘What do you say to the rumours that you ruined Harlow & Sons to take over their company?’
‘Yes.’
The reporters were so startled at my reply that they actually stopped badgering me with questions for a moment. The one right in front of me nearly dropped his pen and notepad. ‘W-what do you mean, yes?’
I took a step towards him, off the gangway and onto the embankment. ‘I should have thought that was obvious. I say yes to the rumours. I ruined their company to take it over. And if you don’t get out of my way I’ll do the same to your paper.’
‘Are you threatening me? I’m a member of the free press, and-’
‘-in my way.’ Taking the reporter by the scruff of the neck, I lifted him off the ground and, with a splash, dropped him into the harbour basin right beside me. He resurfaced a second later, spewing dirty seawater. I looked at the remaining reporters gathered all around me like a pack of hungry jackals, and cocked my head. ‘Do any of you gentlemen still have questions for me?’
They scattered.
‘The press here appears to be easier dealt with than in America,’ Karim commented, thoughtfully.
I nodded.
‘What about them?’ asked my bodyguard, pointing to a crowd of gape-mouthed gawkers who had gathered around the dock to stare at the splashing reporter, at the huge Mohammedan with the sabre and the turban on his head, and most of all - at me. Now that the reporters were gone, the gawkers were the only thing in our way. ‘Should I remove them, Sahib?’
I shook my head.
Stepping forward, I focused my gaze on the foremost of the spectators: a spindly little half-bald man with enormous ears. I lifted my hand, with three fingers outstretched.
One finger retracted.
Three…
Another finger followed.
Two…
I met the spindly man’s eyes. My last extended finger twitched.
The man moved faster than the fastest race horse. He stepped back so quickly that he stepped on the toes of the fat fishwife behind him. Instead of reacting in the usual manner of a fishwife and hitting him over the head with a haddock, she caught sight of me and stepped back just as hurriedly. As did the man behind her, and the one behind him, too. A corridor through the crowd began to open.
Any other man might have smiled, maybe even felt triumph. I didn’t. A lion doesn’t feel triumph when his prey steps aside.
At least I didn’t think he did. I had never actually asked one.
Stepping forward, I brushed past the people, easily parting what was left of the crowd in front of me. All around, I could hear whispers:
‘…Ambrose! Rikkard Ambrose…’
‘…richer that Croesus, they say! Richer than Midas!’
‘Back from the colonies…’
‘…should have stayed there! Who does he think he is?’
‘Psht! If he hears you-’
‘I heard,’ I said.
From one moment to the next, a blanket silence fell over the crowd. Without looking, I pointed my cane over my shoulder, directly at the man who had spoken.
‘You have one week to get out of the city. By then, I will have squashed the company you work for and your job along with it.’
I reached the exit of the harbour without any further interruption, Karim close behind me.
‘I see you are in a good mood, today, Sahib,’ he said in what was, for Karim, almost a jovial voice. ‘You gave him a week.’
Nod.
‘That was very generous of you.’
Shrug.
‘Shall I order a cab for you, Sahib?’
Headshake.
‘Are we going to walk?’
Nod.
‘The address?’
I handed him a piece of paper on which I had noted the address.
‘This is where your new offices are?’
Nod.
‘Very well, then, Sahib. We shall walk.’
Nod.
I so enjoyed these lively conversations with my bodyguard. They really brightened my day.
Ten minutes later, the massive supports of a two-columned portico rose up out of the morning mist in front of us. The door under the portico stood wide open, and some strangely deluded fool had unrolled a red carpet all the way into the street. His idiot friends, meanwhile, had been busy decorating the outside of the building with garlands. Coloured garlands!
Very slowly, I turned my head towards my bodyguard and gave him a long, long look. ‘Karim?’
The Mohammedan shook his head. ‘This is not my doing, Sahib.’
‘I see.’
Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the door - and was almost blasted off my feet by the fanfare of the brass band arrayed at the opposite end of the hall. Quickly, my eyes took in the scene:
The brass band, the cheering people arrayed along both sides of the wastefully expensive-looking red carpet, the committee of what was probably senior staff awaiting me by the reception desk, headed by a sallow-faced man in a grey waistcoat. Behind them, the walls and ceiling were bedecked with banners and garlands.
I didn’t know any of these people. This was the first time I had set foot on British soil for over a decade. I’d had this office established in my absence. Not a single one of the staff members had I met in my entire life, and they had hung up garlands and banners for me?
I had to admit, they were accomplished bootlickers. But they had made a mistake, or even two. The first was that they, I was sure, had not paid for this welcome out of their own purses. And the second…
Well, the second was that one of the banners, the largest, right behind sallow-face, read ‘Welcome Home, Mr. Ambrose’.
Welcome home?
Home?
‘Silence!’
My voice cut through the brass music like a guillotine through the neck of a luckless French aristocrat. The musicians lowered their instruments. The cheering people stopped cheering and clapping, their hands frozen in mid-air. They watched cautiously as I marched to the welcoming committee in front of the reception desk.
‘Why are you not working?’
Sallow-face seemed a bit taken aback by my curt demand. ‘S-sir?’
‘It’s a simple enough question.’ Reaching into my waistcoat pocket, I pulled out my silver watch and let it snap open, not even glancing at the coat of arms on the lid. The times when that had made me flinch were long past. ‘It is eleven thirty-one a.m., and not a single one of you is doing the job he is supposed to. Do you think I pay you for lazing about?’
‘N-no, Sir.’
‘And what is this litter cluttering my entrance hall?’ Raising my cane, I pointed at the banners, the garlands and the members of the marching band. ‘Sell everything you can find a buyer for, and throw the rest in the Thames!’
‘Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’
‘Excuse me?’ The conductor of the marching band stepped forward, red in the face. He apparently wasn’t used to being treated like this.
Well, he’s in for a novel experience.
‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are?’
‘Rikkard Ambrose,’ I told him. ‘That’s much too easy a question. I can think of a better one. What are you doing here? You are not members of my staff!’
‘No, Sir, but-’
‘Out! This building is only for authorized personnel.’
‘But, Sir, our fee-’
‘Out, I said! I didn’t hire you. You won’t see a penny from me, unless it’s one you find at the bottom of the River Thames!’
To judge by the speed with which they ran from the hall, they believed me.
I was standing at the door, glaring after the marching band, when Sallow-face came sidling up to me.
‘I have prepared some refreshments for you after your long journey, Mr Ambrose. Is there anything you would like particularly?’
‘Yes. For you to stop licking my boots.’
‘W-what?’
‘They’re quite clean enough at the moment. But don’t worry.’ Whirling, I marched towards a door that looked as if it led upstairs. I had to find myself an office in this place. ‘If I ever need a shoeshine boy, I’ll remember your talents.’
‘Um… yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’
‘Which of these goggling buffoons is my secretary?’
‘That would be Mr Simmons, Sir.’
‘Send this Simmons upstairs with a progress report and an annual balance. It’s time someone took this place in hand!’
*~*~**~*~*
Plink.
I heard the noise of the little metal capsule landing on the desk on the other side of the wall and nodded, with something that almost approached contentment. The decision to install the pneumatic tubes had been an excellent one. If I’d had to communicate with my secretary in the ordinary way, I would have had to get up, open the door, holler his name and march back to my desk again before continuing to work. Right now, I had saved at least ten precious seconds. Over the last few days, I had been able to save at least three hundred and seventy-one seconds. If I managed to do that every hour of every workday, I would save at least forty-three thousand eight hundred and fifty-five seconds this year.
Or maybe not.
Because my secretary, it seemed, didn’t share my work ethic today. He wasn’t answering my call. Shoving another message into the tube, I pulled the lever.
Plink.
Nothing.
Plink.
Still nothing.
Plink! Plonk! Plink!
I was just about to shove the next message into the tube when I realized this was turning into a senseless waste of perfectly good paper. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I called: ‘Simmons!’
No reply.
Where was the blasted fool? Kicking my chair back, I rose and marched over to the connecting door between our two offices and pushed it open.
Two minutes later I was back in my own office, lifting the mouthpiece that connected it with downstairs.
‘Karim? Get up here! Simmons has vanished!’
Karim marched into my office after only a few moments. Without asking, he continued to Simmons’ office, and I heard rustling and clanking. I waited. The man was good at his job. There was no sense in interfering while he did it.
‘Nothing, Sahib.’ His bushy eyebrows drawn together in a frown, Karim reappeared at the door. ‘No clue to where he’s gone.’
‘Search the building.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
‘And if the idiot has accidentally locked himself in the archives again, demonstrate to him what I think of time wasters.’
‘With pleasure, Sahib.’
When Karim returned half an hour later, his frown had deepened. ‘I could not find a sign of him anywhere, Sahib. He’s gone.’
‘You mean permanently gone?’
‘Apparently.’ Karim hesitated. ‘When I searched his room just now, I didn’t just not find any clue to his whereabouts - I found nothing at all. No personal possessions, no loose cash, nothing. He cleaned his desk out completely. It seems Mr Simmons decided to leave your employ.’
‘Leave? Why now? He’s worked here for three years.’
‘Maybe your charming personality overwhelmed him, Sahib.’
‘Karim?’
‘Yes, Sahib?’
‘Was that sarcasm?’
‘No, Sahib. Of course not, Sahib. I would never take the liberty, Sahib.’
‘Good.’
There was a pause in the conversation. Something unusual for me since, under normal circumstances, I would not condone such a frivolous waste of time. But the behaviour of my secretary had thrown me off course for a minute. The bloody cheek of the man! He didn’t even have the decency to let himself be sacked for his ineptitude!
‘Sahib?’
‘Yes?’
‘Should I put an advertisement about an open post for a secretary in the papers?’
Those words jarred me out of my paralysis. ‘Have you lost your mind, Karim? Do you know how much an advertisement in the Manchester Guardian costs these days? Let alone in The Times?’
‘No, Sahib.’
‘Well, I do! There has to be some other way to find the right man for the job. In the meantime, I’ll do the work myself.’
*~*~**~*~*
There are a few things you tend to forget about secretaries. One is that you pay them to do the work you don’t want to do yourself. So, when your secretary is suddenly gone, he leaves you with a big pile of idiotic correspondence and an intense wish to shoot him for the deserter he is.
Icily, I stared at the pile of letters on my table. When I did this with people, they usually turned and ran. The letters, unfortunately, seemed to feel no such inclination. They just lay there leering at me. Most of them seemed to be from charities, or from mothers who wanted nothing so much as to invite me to a ball, shackle me to a wall and feed me tea and biscuits until I agreed to marry their daughter out of desperation.
‘Have you changed your mind yet about the advertisement, Sahib?’ asked Karim from behind me.
Without a word, I grabbed all the letters in pastel-coloured envelopes and dropped them in the bin.
‘It is conceivable that prospective business partners might send correspondence in pastel-coloured envelopes,’ Karim pointed out.
‘Not ones with whom I wish to do business.’
‘Yes, Sahib. Of course, Sahib.’
‘Have you heard anything new from the estate agents we’ve been contacting?’
‘No, Sahib.’
‘Pressure them, Karim. I need a place in the country for my negotiations.’ I looked around my perfectly designed office - bare, grey stone walls, bare stone floor tiles and a single wooden chair in front of the desk. ‘For some reason, people I invite up here do not seem comfortable discussing business.’
‘I can’t imagine why, Sahib.’
I was just about to tear open the first of the letters that remained on my desk, when there came a knock from the door.
‘Enter!’
A message boy stuck his head in the door. ‘Guv? I ‘ear you was wanting a place in the country?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Mr Elseworth sent me. Mr Elseworth of Elseworth and Brown, estate agents. He’s got a place for you, if you was interested.’
‘I was, or more grammatically correct, I am.’ Throwing aside the letter, I rose from behind the desk. ‘Come, Karim. Let’s meet this Mr Elseworth.’
‘He’s downstairs,’ the boy piped up. ‘Your man said you was looking for a place real quick, so ‘e didn’t want to lose any time, Guv.’
‘A man after my own heart. Lead on.’
Downstairs at the entrance, Mr Elseworth was waiting. The good feeling created by his promptness was not supported by his appearance. The man was fat, with small, piggish eyes that made him look like a nasty, greedy bastard. But I knew better than to judge by appearance. After all, by popular opinion I was the most handsome man in London, and I was a nasty, greedy bastard myself.
‘Ah, Mr Ambrose!’ Spreading his arms, Mr Elseworth sent me an ingratiating smile. ‘How very kind of you to spare some minutes of your valuable time for me! I truly think I have an offer that will interest you greatly. Shall we go up to your office and-’
‘No.’
‘But I really-’
‘I have a business appointment in…’ I let my watch snap open. ‘…exactly fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds. No time to waste.’
‘But-’
‘We can talk on the way. Move.’
I brushed past a slightly dazed Mr Elseworth, not even slowing my steps. A few moments later, he was beside me, huffing and puffing in an attempt to keep up the pace.
‘Don’t you… think we should… get a cab?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’
‘We’ll walk. You have an offer to make? Make it.’
We started down the street, Karim and a group of his men surrounding us, while Mr Elseworth extolled the virtues of Wilding Park, the country estate he was desirous of selling. Apparently, it had not only ten huff puff puff bedrooms, but also gasp modern huff gasp bathing facilities gasp. Amazing.
By the time we reached the street that was my destination, I was already getting tired of Mr Elseworth. One country place was as good as another, and I was not prepared to waste any more time on this matter.
‘… tell you, it is in perfect condition,’ Elseworth was blabbing. ‘The best of all the houses I have.’
‘Indeed? Interesting that you are willing to part with such a treasure.’
‘It is out of the goodness of my heart, Sir, out of the goodness of my heart! Wilding Park is a treasure, and I hate to part with it, but I know that with you it will be in good hands.’
Not far away I spotted the bank where I had my first business of the day to conduct. Dismissively, I waved Elseworth away. ‘Bah. I have no time for this. Karim, pay the man and let's be done with it.’ Pointing a finger at the fat estate agent, I fixed him with my eyes. ‘However, you should remember: If you haven't told the truth, I shall be very… displeased.’
My words had the desired effect. If Elseworth had sold me a pup, he knew what was coming for him.
‘Karim?’ I snapped my fingers. ‘The money.’
Karim stepped forward - but then hesitated. I was just about to turn and demand what he was waiting for, when I heard someone clear their throat.
‘Excuse me, Sir?’ The voice was high, clear, and a nuisance. I had already wasted enough time today. Whoever this was and whatever they wanted from me, they were going to be disappointed. Through the mist, I saw only the outline of a smallish figure stepping towards me before Karim intercepted the bothersome stranger, grabbing him by the arm.
‘On your way, you lout!’ he growled. ‘On your way, I said! The Sahib has no time for beggars!’
‘I don't want any money from him,’ the stranger retorted, almost sounding offended. I was just about to start towards the bank again, when I heard his next words: ‘In fact, I want to help him save some!’
I stopped in my tracks.
Maybe this strange fellow wasn’t that big of a nuisance, after all.
‘Save money? Karim - let him go, now!’ I turned my eyes on the stranger, for the first time bothering to look at him properly. He was a rather odd-looking young man with a rather fat behind, although his true figure was hard to divine under the baggy trousers and too-large tailcoat he was wearing. His chubby cheeks were tanned from long hours in the sun, and an overlarge top hat set on a mop of chestnut brown hair that looked as if it wasn’t on first name basis with Mr Comb. All in all, a rather unusual appearance for a financial advisor.
‘You!’ I gave him my best intimidating glare, which has been known to send bloodhounds off howling. He didn’t move back an inch. Impressive. ‘What do you speak of? How exactly can you help me save money?’
The young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed, nervously. He tried to step towards - yes, actually towards - me, but Karim stopped him. The boy really had guts.
‘I couldn't help overhearing part of your conversation with…’
‘Mr Elseworth.’
‘…with Mr Elseworth. Am I right in thinking that you intend to purchase Wilding Park, Sir?’
I gave a curt nod. ‘You are.’
‘If you don’t mind my saying so, Sir, I would advise against it.’
‘Why?’ I studied the youngster intently. There was no sign of deceit in his eyes. Trepidation, certainly, but not deceit. What was his game? Did he even have one?
‘My… my grandmother lives in the vicinity of Wilding Park, Sir. I visit her now and again and have caught glimpses of the house. It is not pretty.’
I waved that away. ‘I am not concerned with whether it is pretty or not. Is it sound?’
‘That it is, Sir, that it is,’ Elseworth threw in. From the look he directed at the young man, our young friend had made an enemy today. ‘Don't listen to this foolish youth!’
‘It is not sound,’ the fellow snapped.
Ah, so he has some fire under that big topper of his, has he?
‘And you know that how?’ I wanted to know.
‘Half the roof tiles are missing and I have seen unhealthy-looking stains on the walls,’ the young man started rattling off. ‘Once, in passing, I heard the steward complain about the wilderness in the grounds and an infestation of rats. The road up to the house, from what I could see from my coach as I drove by, also looked in bad disrepair.’
‘And you remember all that just from passing?’
I looked at him again, and this time from an entirely different angle. He was young, true - there was not a shadow of beard on his chin - but not too young. His behind was rather larger than usual, but still I didn’t get the feeling that he sat on it all that often. There was a fire in his brown eyes, a desire to prove himself that burned in all people who had long moved out of Lazytown.
‘Yes?’ It sounded more like a question than like an answer. But it was answer enough for me.
I gave a curt nod. ‘I see. Exactly what I have been looking for.’
The young man blinked. ‘But I just told you the house is dilapidated and…’
I cut him off with a jerk of my hand. ‘Not the house, young man. You.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ Glancing over my shoulder, I waved towards Mr Elseworth. Or should I say the late Mr Elseworth? In the world of business, he was as good as dead. ‘Karim, get rid of that individual. Our business relationship is terminated. I have no further use for him.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
‘Now to you.’ Ignoring the protesting shrieks of the pig that was being carted off to slaughter, I focused all of my considerable attention on the young man in front of me. ‘I know a good man when I see one, and I need a bright young man with a good memory and quick mind as my secretary. The last one I had has just left my employment for some unfathomable reason. I think you would be exactly the man for the job.’
The young man’s eyes bugged, and he coughed. Overwhelmed by my generosity, probably.
‘Err… the man for the job? Sorry, but I don't quite think that I'm the one you want, Sir.’
What the heck? Why was he being difficult?
‘Can you read and write?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘Do you have employment?’
‘No, Sir, but…’
Bloody hell, what was this? He should be kissing my feet! I didn’t have time for this.
‘Well then, it's settled.’ My gaze drilled into him, making clear that by ‘settled’, I meant ‘very, absolutely, finally settled’. ‘Be at my office, nine sharp Monday morning.’
Taking a step towards the youngster, I held out my card to him. Having those cards printed had been abominably expensive, but having to waste my time reciting my address would cost me even more time and money.
‘Here.’
As I stepped forward and the last remnants of mist between me and the young man disappeared, his jaw suddenly sagged and a glazed look came into his eyes, as if he were seeing a unicorn with an extra horn sticking out of its behind. Why was he staring at me like that? Impatiently, I waved the card.
‘Hello, young man? Are you listening to me?’
‘Err… yes. Yes, I am.’ The young man shook himself. ‘You just surprised me, Sir. I must admit, that it's not every day I get an offer like that.’
‘See that that you're not “surprised” too often when you are in my employ. I have no use for baffled fools standing around gawking for no good reason.’
Still, the youngster hadn’t taken the card I was holding out to him. What was the matter? Was he mentally retarded?
‘My card!’ I said, waving the thing impatiently. He finally took it, and studied it as if it were a particularly peculiar bug. Maybe I’d better rethink hiring him… But no. I needed a secretary, and fast. If I had to deal with one more charity request for helpless little orphans, I was going to shoot someone. Probably the orphans.
Bah! What was I waiting for? I had wasted enough time on this little worm!
‘Don't be late.’ I sent him another significant look. ‘I don't tolerate tardiness.’ With that, I turned and marched away down the street. If he showed up, good. If not, he wouldn’t have been tough enough for the job, anyway. Soon, the young man disappeared in the mist somewhere behind me.
‘Where to now, Sahib?’ Karim asked from beside me, keeping pace.
Wordlessly, I nodded at the bank down the street.
‘Very well, Sahib.’
There were quite a few customers in Bradley & Bullard’s Bank, waiting at tables, writing documents, busily chatting. At least they chatted until Karim, his sabre, his turban and his beard stepped into the main hall. All voices died, and all eyes were drawn to the huge Mohammedan. Then I followed him inside, and Karim was forgotten. There are things with which even a sabre and a turban cannot compete.
Ignoring the line of people in front of the counter, I marched up to the closest bank clerk and fixed him with my gaze.
‘You there! How much does this bank cost?’
‘Um… we offer very affordable bank accounts, and our fees for stock management are also-’
I cut him off with an impatient gesture. ‘That’s not what I asked! How much does this bank cost?’
The man blinked at me, the confusion in his eyes slowly changing to disdain. His eyes wandered over my simple black tailcoat, my lack of silk, satin and gold embroidery, and I knew he was busy judging by appearance. Bad mistake.
The bank clerk’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, Sir.’
‘Rest assured, understanding me is no pleasure.’
‘I can readily believe it, Sir.’ He sniffed, derisively. ‘Will you please remove yourself? You are holding up the line.’
Reaching into my pocket, I took out one of my business cards and slammed it onto the counter. The bank clerk’s eyes focused on my name and widened in shock.
If I hadn’t lost the ability years ago, I might have smiled. Sometimes, a business card says more than a thousand words.
The man’s frightened eyes rose from my name to meet my gaze.
‘Get me the manager,’ I ordered.
When we left the bank five minutes later, Karim was carrying the documents detailing the sale in a suitcase that the manager had, in his generosity, gifted to me. People tend to be generous like that when they are scared of losing their jobs.
‘Is our business here concluded to your satisfaction, Sahib?’
Taking a deep breath of filthy London air, I glanced back at the bank.
‘Well… It’s not the bank of England, but it’ll do for a week or so.’
‘Quite so, Sahib.’
‘Where to next…?’ I hesitated on the sidewalk, thinking. Bloody hell, I really needed a secretary to keep track of my appointments, and fast! Hopefully, that youngster would live up to my expectations. He seemed like a bright young man. Where to now… where to-
‘Chauvinists!’ a shout rudely interrupted my thoughts. Or, to be exact, it was more of a shriek. ‘Oppressors of womanhood!’
I turned, just in time to see… What the hell?
Farther down the street, a figure was being dragged down the front steps of a polling station by two police officers. A figure I knew. I stared. Was it really…? Yes. My future secretary.
No. Oh no, this would not do. Not at all. If the police had caught that foolish youth breaking the law, they would just have to forget about it, until I had found someone cheaper and more law-abiding.
‘Officer!’ In three long strides I was in front of them. I was damn well going to get to the bottom of this! ‘Officer, what are you doing with this young man, may I ask?’
The sergeant turned and, when he caught sight of me, paled. Unlike the bank clerk, he clearly knew with whom he was dealing. If his facial expression wasn’t enough proof, his hurried salute definitely was.
‘Good morning, Mr Ambrose, Sir!’ he mumbled, trying his best to keep hold of my prospective secretary, who was wriggling like a rattlesnake in an attempt to get free. ‘Um… Sir, if I may ask, what young man are you speaking of?’
My eyes slid from the policeman to the young man in his clutches and back again. Was he daft? Who else would I be talking about?
‘That one, of course. Are you blind? What are you doing with him?’
‘Not him, Sir.’ Reaching up, the sergeant gripped the young man’s top hat and pulled. It was like that silly trick magicians did when they pulled a rabbit out of the hat - only in this case, I would have actually preferred it if a curious bunny poked its nose out of the hat. Instead, masses of wild chestnut hair tumbled out. I felt a cold hand clench hard around my vital organs. ‘Her. That's a girl, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’
Impossible.
Silence.
I stared.
More silence. And for the first time in my life, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to say something. It was because I did absolutely not know what to say. Or to yell. Or to bellow.
No. No, this is impossible.
‘Something wrong, Sir?’ the sergeant inquired dutifully. He got no answer from me. I didn’t have one. After a long moment of waiting, he cleared his throat. ‘Well, if you'd excuse us, Sir, we have to take this one away to where she belongs. Maybe a night in the cells will teach her not to do what's only for men.’
‘Aye,’ one of the constables chuckled. ‘Women voting? Who ever heard of something like that? Next thing we know they'll want decent jobs!’
Jobs.
Women.
Jobs for women.
A job for a woman.
No. No. No. No. No. No!
I only distantly heard the laughter of the policemen. Most of my attention was focused on the seething volcano of ice-cold rage that was rising inside me. Taking a deep breath, I met the girl’s eyes. She met my gaze head-on, not looking away, not even blinking. Other people had died at my hand for the kind of defiance I saw in her eyes right then.
A woman.
A job for a woman.
But she wouldn’t really…!
Paralyzed, I watched the policemen drag her away. Just before they pulled her around the corner, she turned her head back towards me and, grinning in a way that made me want to strangle someone, shouted:
‘Looking forward to seeing you at work on Monday, Sir!’
She wouldn’t! Would she?
THE BEGINNING…
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