Storm and Silence(86)

‘Yes.’ His voice was as hard as granite. ‘I cannot and will not accept a female secretary. I will not be made a fool of in front of the entire city. Either you come dressed as a man, or you never return.’

I nodded. This was hard for me to accept, but it was unavoidable. I turned to leave, but Mr Ambrose called me back, and so I turned again.

‘What is it, Sir?’

‘You know very well what it is. I want to know.’

‘Want to know what?’

‘Your method, of course. Well?’

‘What method? What are you talking about?’ I asked, truly bewildered.

A muscle in his jaw twitched in an annoyed sort of way. ‘Don’t play games with me! How did you do it? Find out where Simmons was?’

Ah! That was what was eating him. I struggled mightily to constrain my grin but probably failed.

‘How about a deal?’ I said. ‘I tell you my method, and you tell me what’s in the stolen file?’

His silence was answer enough.

Once again, I saw that mountain of money in front of my inner eye. And he had said it was too little payment…

‘I won’t tell a soul,’ I said. ‘I promise!’

‘No!’ He shot a glare at me. ‘I don't have to make any deals with you. You work for me. You will tell me how you did it. Now!’

I hesitated. ‘Well…’

I told him. I told him everything, with probably a bit more embellishment and gloating than necessary, but accurately enough. It had worked after all, hadn’t it? There was no harm in taking pride in my work.

When I was finished, his stony face was even stonier than before - but his eyes were slightly wider as he gazed at me, and his mouth stood open a fraction.

‘Still sure you don't want a female secretary?’ I asked.

Then, before he could answer, I curtsied and hurried away.

*~*~**~*~*

I had decided to change back into men’s clothes in my office. It would mean that I would have to change again when I came home, but under no circumstances could I go home in the dress Mr Ambrose had bought for me. None of my family had ever clapped eyes on it before, and besides, it wasn’t in very great shape. I was a bit concerned about changing in my office - after all, I couldn’t lock the doors, so what if anybody came in? - but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go.

As it turned out, my concern was totally unnecessary. On the desk in my office I found a small package. A note was pinned to it, saying:

Dear Mr Linton,

Mr Ambrose instructed me to leave these for you. A friendly word of caution: It is very unusual for his secretary to be entrusted with these around the clock. Take good care of them.

Yours Sincerely,

Edgar Stone

My curiosity spiked. What was in there? Well, there was only one way to find out. I ripped open the paper around the package, and in a little cardboard box I found a ring of keys, not as large as the one Mr Ambrose had been carrying but still substantial. On it hung a key labelled Secretary’s Office and another labelled Head Office.

Slowly, a smile spread over my face. He trusted nobody, hm? Well, maybe he was making an exception to the rule.

Then I noticed that there was no key labelled Safe on the ring. Well, it seemed as though he was starting to trust me, at least.

But then, why was he still refusing to reveal the contents of the file…?

I stood there, clutching the set of keys to my chest, feeling oddly emotional. Why, though? Why should it matter to me whether or not my master trusted me? He was just the man I was working for. A man who had yet to pay me my first wages at the end of the month. Whether or not he trusted me was immaterial, as long as I got the money, right?

Yet still, the fact that he was opening up to me touched something deep within me. I felt that maybe, just maybe, he might be starting to respect me. If not as a woman, then at least as an intelligent human being with a head on its shoulders, provided I wore trousers.

Taking the ring of keys, I locked both doors to my office and started the mind-numbing process of changing.

You don't think there’s anything more difficult than getting out of a corset and crinoline? Try getting out of a corset and crinoline which are broken and bent in strange angles in at least a dozen places. I felt like a cat trying to squeeze myself through a labyrinth of rat holes.

When I finally stood only in my underwear, it was a relief. I was just about to reach for Uncle Bufford’s trousers when a knock came from the door, and the door rattled as someone pushed against it.

I almost jumped out of my skin.

‘Y-yes?’ I asked, not sounding very manly at all. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Yes?’

‘Mr Linton? It’s me, Mr Stone. May I come in?’

‘Err… not as such, no.’