An elderly gentleman passing in the opposite direction stopped when he saw me shaking my fist at the statues, and blinked as if he wasn’t sure he was seeing right. I quickly hurried on to the newspaper section.
Shortly afterwards I stood in front of a row of shelves, examining the enormous books which contained the Times of the last few decades. Where to start? From the dates on the file boxes I knew his history went back quite some time. So I pretty randomly picked one of the massive volumes. With effort, I managed to get it down from the shelf and transported it to a table next to a bust of Julius Caesar.
‘Hello there, fellow,’ I said, petting Caesar on his head. ‘Let’s see what we have on Mr Ambrose, shall we?’
*~*~**~*~*
Three hours and seven volumes later, I gave up.
He was everywhere: always on the edge of things, never quite part of society yet always in the middle because all of society seemed to orientate itself around him. Mr Ambrose had been spotted near the races - but did he bet on a horse? No! Mr Ambrose had been seen talking with business partners outside the theatre. But did he go in? Of course not! Once he had been spotted at the opera but had left before the performance ended.
What did he do in his free time?
Where was his family?
What nefarious activities had he engaged in to amass his enormous fortune?
There were no articles about his past, not even the indication that at some point he might have given an interview. Nowhere in the dozens of papers I leafed through did I find a single answer to my questions. But then again - why was I so anxious to find out? What business of mine was it how he had gotten his money? Why did I so desperately want to know?
Deep down I knew why. With a shiver I remembered his words, almost a threat, on that day he had sat opposite me in his office, his dark eyes burning holes into my head:
I need a man. A man, Miss Linton. Not a girl who will run off screaming at the things she will see where my business takes me.
By that, I was sure, he had meant more than seeing the inside of file boxes.
I wanted him to accept me as his secretary. As his female secretary, however scandalous other people would consider that. Yet I was also slightly afraid of what would happen if he did. What would he do if I really managed to convince him to let me work for him for real? Or more importantly, what would I have to do?
*~*~**~*~*
When I got home, my aunt was waiting and ready for battle, glaring at me like an emaciated Valkyrie. I was half expecting her to be holding a sharp spear and riding an eight-legged horse.
‘Where were you?’ she demanded.
‘I was in the park walking, showing off my charms to the young men there,’ I lied brightly. ‘Just in case I might happen to come across Lieutenant Ellingham.’
‘Oh.’ My aunt’s thin lips relaxed a tiny little bit. ‘Really? Well… good. That’s very good.’
‘I shall do that often now, if it is all right with you, Aunt,’ I continued quickly, determined to exploit this sudden inspiration to the limits. Darn it! Why hadn’t I thought of this before? ‘After all, now that I have been introduced into society, there are hundreds of men I could meet. Thousands, in fact. And the more I meet…’
‘You’re quite right.’ My aunt came up to me. For a moment I was worried that she might want to hug me, which would have been slightly awkward because (a) we were both wearing hoop skirts and (b) I hated her guts, skeleton and strict, black boots. But instead, she merely laid a hand on my arm. It was enough for me to want to run screaming and take a bath in the Thames. ‘I’m very happy you’ve finally started behaving like a lady, Lilly. I knew you would see sense some day.’
I thanked her like a proper little lady and then hurried off. Not towards the Thames for a bath, because I knew perfectly well that it was full of dirty toilet paper. Instead, I directed my steps towards the garden.
Why the garden, you may ask?
Simple. Over all the questions about Mr Ambrose that were plaguing my poor, chocolate-deprived brain, I had not forgotten my sister and her problems. When I had entered the house, the sun had just been about to set. I knew perfectly well what that meant.
Ella and Edmund would soon have their nocturnal rendezvous in the garden. So I went out there and this time didn’t even stop to take a book with me. Tonight, I was quite sure, I wouldn’t need literature to take my mind off things. Judging from the number of flowers that had arrived in my absence, the evening’s conversation would provide more than enough distraction.
As soon as the moon rose over the streets of London, I heard a rustle from the door and, through the bushes behind which I had concealed myself again, saw Ella hurrying past. Only a moment later, Edmund appeared on the other side of the fence.