Storm and Silence(78)

‘Thank you, Sir, thank you!’ I clutched his hand with both of mine and gave it a gentle, grateful squeeze. As if I had squeezed a trigger, his chest puffed out a little more. Interesting. This seemed to be a reflex reaction with the brain playing no part in the decision. Well, in what part of the male decision-making process did the brain ever play a part?

‘Thank you,’ I repeated. ‘I shall be eternally grateful to you. But it is not to me that the wrong was done - it is to my sister.’

‘Oh.’ The receptionist looked slightly crestfallen at this news, so I quickly ploughed on, giving him another sad smile. ‘Oh yes, my poor, innocent little sister. Dear Ophelia.’

I had heard the name in a play once. It seemed to fit, because immediately, the concern on the face of the receptionist returned.

‘She… Oh, I can’t bring myself to say it. You must understand, Sir, she has been educated in a convent. She does not know the ways of men who are no gentlemen, who are not like you. You must not judge her too harshly.’

I sniffled a bit more.

‘What happened?’ he gently enquired.

‘She… she eloped. A man staying in the village of the convent enticed her with honeyed words, sweet words of love and eternal devotion. He said he would marry her.’

The receptionist’s mouth dropped open.

‘How shocking!’

‘Oh no, Sir, the shocking part is yet to come. As I said - my sister is young, only sixteen years of age. She was deceived by his words.’

‘Deceived? Do you mean that when…’

‘When they had run away together, he… he…’ I closed my eyes at this point. It seemed the right thing to do. After all, I was in such terrible pain about my poor little sister Olivia. Or was it Olga? No, Ophelia, right! ‘He used her and then threw her away like a soiled handkerchief, left her at the first inn where they stopped and disappeared into the night.’

‘The devil!’

‘Oh please, Sir, your language.’

‘I beg your pardon, Miss,’ the receptionist said, his face reddened, ‘but you must agree that only a demon in human guise, or perhaps a Frenchman, not an English gentleman, should be expected to behave in such a manner.’

‘I cannot argue with you, Sir. It is not in my power to offer anything in defence of that man. Even though I might not like the harsh terms in which you express your view of him, it is nevertheless justified.’

The receptionist, overcome with his emotions and his manliness for a moment, stood there mute, holding my hand in silent support.

‘And what is to become of your sister now?’ He asked after a moment. ‘What will your father do?’

‘That is just the thing.’ Renewed tears sprang to my eyes - and I didn’t even have to use another onion. I wasn’t just good at this, I was top-hole![24] A natural talent! ‘We have not a father nor a mother, not even an uncle. We are all alone in the world, Ophelia and I, and have only each other.’

‘And your name is?’

That was something I had pondered for quite a while before starting to put this little plan of mine into action. I mean, Lilly Linton? That didn’t sound very romantic. It clucked off the tongue, rebounded from the teeth and came shooting out of the mouth like cannon fire. No. I needed a name with weight. With romance. So why not let myself be inspired by romance?

‘Juliet,’ I said. ‘Miss Juliet Desdemona Bennet.’

‘Miss Bennet, you have my sincerest condolences.’ He pressed my hand again, with all the masculinity he could muster. ‘Both for the death of your parents and the misfortune that has befallen you since. I stand in awe at your bravery, for I can see what has happened since. For love of your sister, you went out in search of this man, did you not? You, who had no one in the world, dared to go after such a monster?’

‘How could I not?’ I asked, my voice wavering just right. ‘Ophelia is my only sister. Her honour and happiness mean more to me than life itself.’

‘And you suspect him of staying in our hotel, this man?’

Oh boy. This was really working out nicely. Apparently I had delivered the first part of my performance so well that he was doing the rest of the job for me. So I just gave a shaky little nod.

‘He shall be brought before the magistrate!’ the receptionist proclaimed.

‘Oh no! No, Sir, I beg of you!’ Quickly I pressed his hand, which immediately caused some more chest-puffing. Yes, apparently this was a male reflex and worked quite automatically. Fascinating. ‘If that were to happen, if the whole matter were to become public, my sister’s honour would be forever ruined!’