Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1)

‘Be my guest,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be out of here faster than you can say “assault charges”.’

I was seething with fury. But behind his cold words I could sense something - something that wasn’t clearly expressed, and yet I felt it, in his eyes, his voice…

He wanted to get rid of me because I was a girl? But he had said that I did my work well enough. So why would he still want to get rid of me? Why did men think women shouldn’t work? Because they were a distraction, because it was unbecoming, because they were in too much danger—

My thoughts screeched to a halt.

‘It’s because of him, isn’t it?’

‘Who?’

‘Him! This mystery-man behind the theft of that all-important file! You said he was dangerous, and that you wouldn’t let me be in on the chase, because you couldn’t put a lady in harm’s way!’ I loaded the word ‘lady’ with as much disgust as I could manage. ‘It is because of him, isn’t it?’

Silence. But this time, the silence told me all. Yes. It was because of him.

‘Who is he?’ I demanded. ‘What is in the file? Who is this mysterious mastermind that makes even you think twice about taking him on? Tell me!’

Silence. Thickening silence.

‘I just don't understand!’ I exclaimed, shaking my head. ‘Who could be that powerful, that evil, that he would give even you pause? He would have to be a king, a ruthless killer or… or…’

It was only a flicker of movement, but I noticed it: Mr Ambrose’s head turned, almost imperceptibly, for just a split second to look out of the window, across the street - and at the fa?ade of East India House.

…or a man who owned an entire subcontinent and his own private army.

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘No. It couldn’t be!’





I Realize I Danced with a Criminal Mastermind


His head jerked up and around to look at me, but I didn’t see him. Instead I saw a dozen images, whirling in my head, connecting together for the first time:

Mr Ambrose shaking Lord Dalgliesh’s hand with enough force to whiten his knuckles.

Mr Ambrose staring across the ballroom to a table where only two people stood - Miss Hamilton and Lord Dalgliesh.

Mr Ambrose cutting a lock of hair from Simmons' head in the dark cellar beneath Empire House.

Lord Dalgliesh opening the envelope that contained a single lock of golden hair - hair of exactly the same shade and texture as that on Simmons' head.

‘But…’ I steadied myself against the wall. ‘But he’s one of the peers[45] of England! One of the most wealthy and respected gentlemen of the Empire! He wouldn’t be involved in something like this!’

‘He?’ Mr Ambrose asked, his face expressionless. ‘Who?’

‘Don’t play dumb with me!’

‘Mind your language, Mr Linton!’

‘Fine! Don’t play dumb with me, Sir! You know exactly who I am talking about.’

The only answer to this was silence. That is, outside of my head. Inside, a multitude of voices and pictures were clamouring for attention. Rapidly, I went through everything I had seen that night at the ball, when I had first met Lord Dalgliesh.

‘You went there to meet with him,’ I whispered. ‘That’s why you came to the ball! To meet with him and let him know that you knew what he was up to. To warn him off!’

‘I went to the ball to court Miss Hamilton,’ he said with a facial expression that was about as passionate as a piece of dried cod. ‘I went to be with the pearl of my heart, the girl for whom I feel the most ardent love which ever a man has experi-’

‘Oh, put a sock in it!’ I cut him off with a hand gesture. ‘We both know you have no romantic interests whatsoever!’

‘Do we indeed?

‘Yes! They would waste too much of your precious time and money.’

He almost nodded in agreement but caught himself and suggested, almost defiantly: ‘Love could have overwhelmed my defences and made me weak with longing.’

‘No it couldn’t.’

‘Yes it could!’

‘No it couldn’t!’

‘You don't know that for certain. I could feel the most ardent passion-’

‘No you bloody well couldn’t! Not for her, anyway!’

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘And why is that, Mr Linton?’

‘Well… she… she… she’s obviously not the right girl for you! Much too impractical and time-wasting. She’s probably after your money, too.’

‘Thank you for the warning.’ I might have been mistaken, but I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. It wasn’t a smile. It wasn’t even half a smile. He was far too miserly with his facial expressions for that. It was about a quarter of a smile, at the most, but it was there. ‘Though I seem to remember that back at the ball, Mr Linton, you seemed quite convinced of my attachment to Miss Hamilton, in spite of her many defects. If my memory serves me right, it was even you who originally suggested the idea that I might have feelings for her.’

I flushed guiltily.

‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘you seemed quite extraordinarily interested in the subject - and not very pleased by it. Very interested indeed…’

‘I wasn’t interested!’ I snapped. ‘I was being impolite and nosy, which is normal for me!’

‘That is certainly true.’

Wishing desperately to get off this subject as quickly as possible, I made a dismissive hand gesture.

‘Anyway, we weren’t talking about Miss Hamilton! We were talking about your reason for going to the ball!’

‘She was the reason.’

‘No!’

His eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch. Impressive! Together with the miniscule motion of his mouth, this was the closest he had come to having a facial expression since I had known him. He had to be boiling inside.

‘Strange, Mr Linton, how you seem to know my motives and feelings better than I.’

‘Yes it is, isn’t it? But if you don't know them, somebody has to. You went to the ball to confront Lord Dalgliesh. It was you who sent him that letter!’

‘What letter?’ His voice was so smooth, so cool, I could almost have believed he didn’t know what I was talking about. Almost.

‘That letter. It had a lock of Simmons' hair in it, as a sign that his man had been caught. Remember? You cut off a lock of hair from Simmons' head when we were down in the cellar with him. I didn’t understand that at the time, but now I do.’

Silence. Frozen, ice-hard silence from the centre of the arctic wasteland.

His eyes were dark, the dark green-blue of the sea, and totally unreadable. Still, I had a feeling he knew exactly what I was talking about. I, for my part, hovered somewhere between exhilaration, doubt and fear. I had figured it out, finally! I knew who was behind the theft, without a doubt. Everything fit together.

And yet… and yet… it couldn’t be. It was insane. Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh was, by all accounts, one of the wealthiest men of the British Empire. He didn’t have need of petty theft. He had armies at his command, an entire subcontinent under his control. What would he want with one miserable piece of paper?

‘The only thing I don't understand,’ I continued, my eyes lit still by my epiphany, ‘is why the lock? Why send him a lock of hair, not just a simple letter warning him off?’

I expected him to deny it again or to once again be silent. He actually was silent for some time. But then, just as I opened my mouth for the next attack, he raised his chin and said:

‘A letter could have incriminated me. A paper in which I accused him of theft, even in the vaguest terms? He would have found some way to use it against me! A lock of hair on the other hand - that was a message only he would understand. A message that needed no words or signature.’

A wave of cold swept over me. He had admitted it. He had finally admitted it. My exciting theory was no longer just a theory.

‘It can’t be him.’ How come my voice suddenly sounded so small? ‘It simply can’t. I mean… He’s so wealthy. So powerful. And it’s just a piece of paper. It’s not important.’

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