Storm and Silence(107)

Ouch. What crawled up his derrière and died?

I quickly cut off that line of thinking because it made me think about his derrière, and that wasn’t a place I wanted my thoughts to go after the disturbing dreams I’d had last night.

Liar, a little voice in the back of my brain cackled.

I’m not lying! I assured myself. I have no interest in Mr Ambrose’s derrière. None whatsoever!

Quickly, I hurried off to fetch the aforementioned box. And then the next. And the next. And for the entire rest of the day, I managed to keep my thoughts off Mr Ambrose’s rather nice-looking behind. Yes, I did.

And how were things at home? Well, my aunt was pretty miffed about Lieutenant Ellingham’s disappearance but was consoled by Sir Philip’s frequent evening visits. They became so frequent, in fact, that Ella missed several rendezvous with Edmund and became increasingly agitated. She didn’t even notice my frequent absence from the house while I was at work.

My friends did, of course. Since our last day out in the park, a considerable time had passed, and they were wondering how it could be that I had so little time on my hands these days - until Ella let slip that I had a secret lover. Then they laughed themselves silly.

Thanks so much, my dear little sister! Where is the nearest butcher knife for sibling-dismemberment?

*~*~**~*~*

‘Mr Linton!’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I panted. ‘The files are coming.’ I burst through the door and let the boxes of files drop onto his desk.

‘Almost acceptable pace, Mr Linton,’ he said, sounding quite close to not disapproving and frozen. ‘Almost.’

‘Thank you so much for the compliment, Sir,’ I huffed, clutching my sides with a grimace.

‘Bring me that file from over there, will you?’

Luckily, the ‘file from over there’ was not a gargantuan monster with enough weight to break my back, but a rather slim file in a black folder. It wasn’t numbered like the other files, but said in bold white lettering: L.E. from L.L. Waste Disposal.

I walked over to get it and hand it to Mr Ambrose.

‘You seem no longer as distracted as the other day,’ came his voice from behind me.

‘Well, I have less dead weight to carry around,’ I answered, distractedly. I was still focused on the black file. Waste disposal? I didn’t know that belonged to the businesses Mr Ambrose was conducting. Strange. By now, I thought I had seen something of everything he did. ‘Do you remember the man I told you off the other day? The one who wanted to marry me. He’s gone. Poof. Vanished into thin air.’

‘Indeed.’

Seizing the file, Mr Ambrose flipped it open and placed a big, black-ink check mark at the very bottom. For a moment I thought I saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes, but surely I was mistaken. After all, what could be so satisfying about getting rid of garbage?

‘Well, I hope your performance won’t be affected like this again.’

‘Yes, Sir. Um… if you don’t mind me asking, Sir..?’ Taking back the file, I waved it in the air. ‘Are you expanding your business, Sir? I didn’t think you were in waste disposal. Are you branching out?’

‘No. This was a special case I had to take care of. Definitely a non-recurring venture.’ He fixed me with his dark eyes and sent a glare at me that was as cold and threatening as an army of banshees and hydras at the North Pole. ‘At least I hope so for your sake, Mr Linton.’

For my sake? What the dickens was that supposed to mean? What did I have to do with his waste disposal? Wait a moment… The initials on the file…!

Before I could let myself think too deeply about those initials, my thoughts were rudely interrupted.

Thump! Thump! THUMP! THUMP!

Heavy footsteps of a man running came up the hallway and intruded into the office. We both stared at the door, distracted. A moment later it flew open and Karim stood in the doorway, panting.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sahib!’ he exclaimed, the accent in his deep voice more distinct than usual from his excitement. ‘I have done it! He is ready to confess! Ready to confess it all!’

‘Simmons?’ One second Mr Ambrose sat behind his desk, the next he was on his feet, erect, ready to move. This time there was no mistaking it: there was triumph in his eyes.

‘Let’s go,’ he ordered and was already out the door. Karim turned and followed, wanting to close the door to the office behind him. I put my foot in between just fast enough.

‘Excuse me. You seem to have forgotten me,’ I said, sweetly.

The bearded mountain grumbled something in some foreign language - probably ‘I wish I could!’ in Urdu or Punjabi or some other Indian language. Then he marched after Mr Ambrose, who was already charging down the stairs. We could hear the harsh staccato of his shoes on the stone steps.