‘So… that’s why you want to get rid of me?’
‘I want to dismiss you from your job all right.’ He leaned forward, his chiselled face not betraying a hint of what he thought or felt. His eyes, though… His eyes were another matter. ‘That’s not the same as getting rid of you.’
Another one of those lumps had appeared in my throat. I swallowed, hard, but it was a stubborn lump that didn’t like attempts to dislodge it. ‘What other reason could I have for staying around, Sir?’
‘What if it’s not up to you, Mr Linton? What if I don’t want to let you go?’
I felt the floor under my feet sway in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with swell.
‘W-what do you mean?’ I asked.
He opened his mouth to speak.
‘Excuse me, Messieurs?’
Our hands jumped apart as if hit with a horsewhip. We stared up at the waiter, who had walked up to our table without either of us noticing. He bowed and flourished a second set of menus. ‘Would you like dessert, now, Messieurs?’
~~*~~*
We ate our dessert in silence. That is, I ate my dessert in silence, while Mr Ambrose chewed another piece of baguette in silence, following the waiter through the room with a venomous, icy glare.
I was glad for his lack of loquaciousness, for once. I had enough to think about - most of all about Mr Ambrose’s words. He had said he should get rid of me. And yet… and yet… he hadn’t looked at me as if he wished to get rid of me. Quite the contrary, in fact.
‘What if it’s not up to you, Mr Linton? What if I don’t want to let you go?’
I shivered. What if he didn’t plan to sack me? What if he was planning on doing something even worse? Exposing my disguise, maybe? But no. That would also expose himself. But what then? I could not for the life of me decipher his dark, intense looks or sparse words.
My dessert was soon gone. There was plenty of baguette in the bread basket still, but Mr Ambrose didn’t seem in the mood to continue eating, even if it was for free. That fact alone was very worrying. He simply sat there in brooding silence, a brooding silence that was about three times as brooding as his usual brooding silences. Again, I couldn’t suppress a shiver. I thought I had managed to prove myself to him, at least to some extent. To prove that I could be a valuable and reliable asset in spite or even because of my femininity. But the way he was staring at the table, avoiding my eyes… He looked like he had all those times when he had contemplated getting rid of me. What was wrong?
‘Is… is everything all right, Sir?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘You did get all of it? The file, I mean? Is there something missing?’
‘What?’ He looked up, seeming to need a moment to realize what I had asked. ‘No, no. The file is complete. Mr Linton?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you hurt at all? I didn’t get a chance to ask before. I should have made sure, after we got away from the soldiers. Are you all right?’
Why did he want to know? Was he worried I had gotten blood on the fake uniform he had paid for?
‘No, Sir. I’m perfectly all right.’
‘Hm.’
He lowered his eyes, and started glaring at the table again. It was a wonder that the piece of furniture hadn’t fled from him yet.
Soon after, the waiter appeared with our bill, which didn’t exactly improve Mr Ambrose’s mood. He paid, but not without giving me a look twice as icy as that he had directed at the poor table. I really hoped my wages would be high enough to cover this bill, otherwise I would be in big trouble.
The waiter bowed and left. For a moment I considered asking Mr Ambrose what was the matter. I hesitated briefly, looking at his chiselled granite face. I hesitated for an instant too long. Pushing back his chair, he rose.
‘I’m tired, Mr Linton. I’m going back to my cabin. You should, too. When we arrive in England, we still have a long coach journey ahead of us.’ His dark eyes met mine, holding them for a moment. ‘And we’ll have a lot to discuss.’
Before I could say anything, he was gone. I shrugged. It wasn’t as if this was the last chance we would ever get to talk. I’d have to get to the bottom of what was the matter with him sooner or later. But it could just as well be later as sooner.
Besides, I had to admit, a few more hours of rest would probably do me good. My muscles still ached from pushing the draisine up those hills, and all I wanted to do was lie down and relax.
When I stepped out onto the deck, Mr Ambrose was nowhere to be seen. Strange. Why was he in such a hurry to disappear? Was he avoiding me? But why would he do that?
The question kept nagging at me, even when I had entered my cabin and lain down. No matter how much I tossed from side to side, or how many blankets I pulled over myself, I couldn’t find sleep. The sun started to sink and disappeared behind the horizon, and still my eyes hadn’t closed. Mr Ambrose’s strange behaviour continued to gnaw at me. Besides, the roar of the steam engine was doing its best to keep me awake. It felt like trying to go to sleep with a raging rhinoceros next door.
In the end, help came from unexpected quarter: the sea. As time passed, its motion became more turbulent, its rush became louder, until it tuned out the drone of the steam engine. The repetitive up and down of the waves, instead of making me sick, turned out to be comforting, like the movement of the cradle, lulling a child into sleep.
Don’t worry so much about Mr Ambrose… Whatever his problem is, he’ll calm down… Everything will be all right…
With that comforting thought, I drifted off into sleep.
I awoke, startled into consciousness by the ring of a bell. A bell? But why would I hear a bell? There was no church in the vicinity, was there? No, of course there wasn’t. I was on a ship! The Urania. Did ships have bells? And when did they ring? Surely not for a wedding?
It was then that I noticed that the motion of the waves had once again changed. Before, it had been like a mother, rocking a child to sleep. Now, it rather resembled a mother bent on infanticide! Over the roar of the sea I could hear thunder rumble in the distance. And were those running feet outside my cabin? Yes, they were! And they were coming closer.
With an almighty crash, my door burst inward, slamming against the wall - and there, framed in the doorway stood Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his silhouette only visible for a moment as lightning arced across the sky. Then he disappeared into darkness, and I only heard his voice, cold and controlled:
‘Get up! A storm is coming!’
Man and Woman
For a moment, I was frozen. Which was ironic, in a way. I had always thought of Mr Ambrose as cold and immobile, but now I was the one who couldn’t move. He marched over to me and grabbed me by the arm.
‘Get up, I said, Mr Linton! Now!’
Half running, half dragged by Mr Ambrose, I stumbled out of the cabin and onto the deck. The deck? No. This didn’t look like the deck I remembered. This looked more like pandemonium. All I saw, before a wall of water hit me in the face, was a strange still life in black and white, with men, women and children arranged around the ship like living corpses, waiting to die again, their faces thrown into stark contrast by the flash of a lightning bolt.
Then, the wave was on me, and the light was gone. My lungs filled with saltwater, and I was thrown back against the outer cabin wall. Only the hand that still clasped mine held me upright. The hand of Mr Ambrose.
‘Steady. It’s all right. I’ve got you.’