Storm and Silence(194)

‘A gunfight! That’s… That’s spiffing!’ I giggled.

Another pause.

Then, the cool voice said, not quite so cool anymore: ‘It is what?’

‘Spiffing. Top-hole. You might even say… ticketyboo.’ I giggled again. ‘I just wish I’d had a gun, too! That would have been even more top-hole. I could have put some holes into other people. Top-hole holes! The little piggies would have been proud!’

I nudged the fellow with the cool voice in the ribs. What was his name again? I couldn’t remember right now.

There was a stifled groan from the dark. Hm… Wasn't I supposed to know this groaner with the cool voice? If only I could remember his name… his name…

Of course! Mr Ambrose! He had dragged me through the gunfight! Mr Ambrose, who had fought in defence of the little yellow piggies! How romantic…

I giggled again.

‘My hero,’ I drawled, leaning against him. ‘You rescued me.’ A frown spread over my face. ‘Although, now that I think about it, I actually didn’t want to be rescued. I wanted to stay there and join the fight.’

‘Exactly why you needed rescuing,’ he responded drily. Suddenly, I noticed that his arm, which had been around my shoulders the whole time he dragged me towards the chaise, was around my shoulders still. Why? And why was it suddenly gripping me so tightly?

‘You are incorrigible, Mr Linton,’ he told me, his voice low, tight, controlled. ‘Why didn’t you do as I told you to? Why, once in your life, didn’t you do the sensible thing and run?’

My frown deepened into a scowl. ‘The men didn’t run. They fought.’

‘Because that’s what they’re paid to do! You’re paid to stay alive! To stay safe!’

‘I’m no coward!’ I growled. ‘I’m as good as any man! And the little piggies needed me!’

‘Excuse me… the what? What pigs?’

I rolled my eyes. He was incapable of grasping the simplest, most logical concepts. He didn’t even understand dancing yellow pigs. Typical man!

But for some reason, leaning against this annoying man also felt comforting. Somehow, I had slipped sideways, and my head had come to rest against his chest. It felt firm, and oh so warm. But that couldn’t be, could it? It was Mr Ambrose. Mr Ambrose was as cold as ice. Surely he would feel icy and hard, not so warm and reassuring.

‘Do you think the little piggies will be all right?’ I murmured, my eyes drifting closed. I felt very drowsy all of a sudden, and so comfortable…

‘I’m sure they will,’ he whispered reassuringly, his hand squeezing my shoulder. ‘I’m sure they will.’

The last thing I felt before darkness swallowed me up was a hand on my cheek, stroking gently.





Hallucination Manicure


‘Mr Linton.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Mr Linton, wake up. We have to go inside.’

‘Why?’ I mumbled, unwilling to open my eyes.

‘Because… Well, because I say so!’

I chuckled. I knew that voice. Cold. Commanding.

‘Not good enough,’ I murmured.

‘You are still in my employ, Mr Linton. You have to do what I say.’

‘Not after hours, Sir.’ A yawn escaped me. Talking was tiring business. Maybe I should just go back to sleep. I was lying on something so comfortable…

The comfortable thing shifted and grabbed me.

‘If you don't get up, Mr Linton, I’m going to carry you. Either way, you will get out of this chaise.’

Oh. Mr Ambrose. It was Mr Ambrose I was lying on. How had that happened? I was sure he hadn’t volunteered to be my personal sofa.

‘Did you hear me, Mr Linton? I will drag you out of here, whether you want to or not.’

For a moment I considered letting him do it. Truth be told, I felt too warm and fuzzy to think about walking. Being carried might actually be nice. However, the moment that thought of weakness popped into my head, the vigilant feminist inside me reasserted herself. I might utilize men as a couch, I might even allow them to pay me wages. But the day I allowed a man to carry me in his arms because I felt too unsteady on my poor little feminine feet would be the day I publicly confessed to being a chimpanzee.

Never.

Ever.

Blindly I groped around, grabbing Mr Ambrose and pushing myself into a sitting position.

‘Be careful with my coat, Mr Linton! It’s only ten years old and-’

‘…still in mint condition.’ I nodded. ‘Yes, I know. You’ve told me before. I’m not stupid, you know.’

‘Maybe not. But you are drunk.’

‘Drunk? Me? Of course I’m not drunk!’ Outraged, I staggered out of the chaise. How dare he suggest such a thing? I was stone-cold sober! And I had plenty of witnesses to the fact. Grasping the carriage wheel to support me, I pointed with my free hand at the yellow piggy sitting beside the driver. ‘Ask him over there, if you don't believe me.’