Suddenly, Mr Ambrose slid me off his back and more or less shoved me away. Panicking, I tried to grab him, but caught only empty air.
‘Mr Ambrose?’ I turned my head left and right, but could see only black. I didn’t want to be alone! Not in this dreadful chaos of death that was coming down on us. ‘Mr Ambrose? Where are you, Sir?’
Silence.
‘Where are you, darn it?’
Without warning, a light flickered to life in the corner of the room, and I had to shield my eyes from the bright invasion. Mr Ambrose stood there, holding a safety lamp, next to a large trunk that stood open beside Lady Timberlake’s bunk bed. As I watched, he bent down and pulled out something enormous, pink and frilly, which glittered in the lamplight. He held it out to me.
‘Put this on!’ There was no doubt in his voice, no room for hesitation or argument. It was a command. And I didn’t care.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
‘Never!’ I didn’t want to leave his side. I couldn’t. Besides, I, unlike poor old Lady Timberlake, actually had some dress sense.
He took a step forward, the dangerous glint in his eyes intensified a thousandfold by the light of the lamp he held up. The flickering flame shone on his face and gave it a whole new appearance, the sharp angles thrown into clearer contrast, the hardness now more clearly visible than ever before.
‘You are going to change into female attire this minute, Mr Linton, or I swear, by all the banknotes of the Bank of England, I will rip your clothes of and stuff you into a skirt myself! Do you understand?’
At any other time, the thought of him ripping my clothes off might have unleashed a torrent of forbidden images and dreams. Not now, though. Now, there was a real torrent coming for us. From somewhere not far away, I heard wood splintering, and the ship shuddered. It wouldn’t be long now.
‘Do you understand, Mr Linton?’ he repeated, enunciating each word, his teeth clenched. I couldn’t escape his penetrating glare. And somehow, I found, I couldn’t deny him.
‘Y-yes, Sir.’
‘Adequate.’ He nodded, turning on his heels and marching towards the door.
‘I’ll be waiting outside,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Don’t take too long. Your dressing room is sinking.’
*~*~**~*~*
I stepped out onto the deck. Mr Ambrose already awaited me.
‘You took your time,’ he observed.
‘It was difficult to get the dress on,’ I said, my voice as lifeless as the rest of me. ‘The buttons are at the back.’
There were so many things I should have said. Yet that was all I could think of. The buttons are at the back.
The ship swayed, and I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself. Mr Ambrose didn’t move an inch, somehow seeming able to sway contrary to the ship’s motion, so he was always standing ramrod straight. He held out his arm to me.
‘Shall we?’
I stared down at it. Having dressed up as a man for so long, I had almost forgotten how a gentleman was supposed to behave to a lady, and that he was the former, while I was the latter. To have this resurface now that we were in danger of sinking into bottomless depths forever was the cruellest of mockeries. With shaking hands, I clutched his arm, and we proceeded down the ship, towards the clamouring crowd beside the lifeboats.
Again, I heard the ship’s alarm bell ringing high above me. It suddenly, painfully, reminded me of church bells announcing a wedding.
Ha! As if this was anything like a wedding. At a wedding, everything was white. Tonight, everything was in black. At a wedding, two people were joined for life. Tonight, two people would be divided in death. At a wedding, two people loved each other. He only hated me, didn’t he? He had said it often enough.
I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose and saw that he, too, was watching me, his dark eyes burning with cold fire. I remembered his lips skimming over mine, and suddenly it struck me that in this last respect, maybe tonight wasn’t so unlike a wedding after all. My jaw began to quiver, and I could feel moisture at the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill over.
‘Don’t, Mr Linton.’ The voice was Mr Ambrose’s - but it was neither as hard nor as cold as usual. It sounded almost gentle. ‘It’s wet enough as it is.’
I nodded hurriedly and clenched my teeth. I wouldn’t cry! I would be strong.
We arrived at the sodden altar of our deadly wedding. The wedding guests didn’t seem too pleased to see us. Particularly, when Mr Ambrose started pushing through the crowd.
‘You there!’ one of the men shouted. ‘Stand back and wait your turn, like any of us!’
Mr Ambrose shot the man a glare that could have frozen lava and held up our joined hands. ‘I’m not seeking a place for myself, but for this lady here.’