…
You still haven’t left, have you?
You still want my story?
Well, I have to say I admire your persistence. If it is persistence, that is. More likely, you’re just too thick-headed to comprehend my warning.
Very well…
On your own head be it.
~~*~~*
‘Ah! Just breathe in that breeze! Feel that air filling your lungs! A hundred of Neptune’s sea-horses couldn’t get me and my ship away from here again! Old Blighty, England, home - there she is! Isn’t it a wonderful sight, Sir?’
Silence.
‘And the weather - perfect for a coming home! Perfect for anything really! Smell that air, will you? I tell you, there’s no air anywhere in the world like good, clean English air! Don’t you think so, Sir?’
Silence.
‘Ah, I know what you’ll say! You’ll say I’m being sentimental!’
Silence.
‘But it ain’t that, Sir. I swear, it ain’t that. This old sailor’s been all around the world, from the Cape of Good Hope - which didn’t inspire me with much hope, let me tell you - to the rocky cliffs of Norway and back again, and let me tell you, there’s no place like Old Blighty!’
Silence.
‘The green hills, the fields, the decent ale - and the people! The people are always friendlier at home, don’t you think? I always say the French are stuck up, the Germans stiff, but Englishmen - you won’t find a single Englishman who isn’t kind, polite and warm.’
Stone-cold silence.
‘No wonder, considering. Who wouldn’t be cheerful on such a wonderful day! Ah, just breathe in the breeze, Sir, breathe in the breeze! Isn’t that wonderful weather, Sir?’
Icy eyes turned on the captain of the ship. My icy eyes.
‘Which part, Captain? The fog, the cold wind, or the drizzle?’
The captain, apparently immune to all forms of sarcasm, smiled brightly. ‘All of it! Isn’t it wonderful to be back in England? Admit it, you don’t get weather like this anywhere else.’
I shook my head to rid myself of the worst of the incessant wetness, and pulled my hat deeper into my face. ‘Indeed you do not.’
‘Aren’t you happy to be back home, Mr Ambrose?’
I threw the captain another look.
‘England is many things - but certainly not my home. I don’t have or need one.’
‘Ah, come on, Sir!’ A huge hand slammed into my back, and I had to suppress the instinctive reaction of grabbing it, twisting it and forcing its owner to his knees with a gun put to the side of his head. Old habits die hard. ‘Everybody has a home! After all the time you’ve been away in the colonies, I’m sure your family is going to give you a big, warm welcome back! Your mum and your old man will be tickled pink to see you!’
‘Captain?’
‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
‘We’re very close to the shore now.’
‘Yes, I know, Sir.’
‘But do you also know what that means, Captain?’
‘I’m afraid not, Sir.’
I gave the man a very meaningful look. ‘It means that I don’t need you anymore to reach my destination. Shut up or I will throw you over the side.’
‘Um… Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir. Of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’
After that, the captain didn’t seem to feel quite so jovial anymore. He made himself scarce. I didn’t even glance at his retreating back. Instead, I continued to stare at the distant cliffs of Dover, rising in front of us out of the mist.
Home…
A foreign concept to me. After years in the colonies, what was there about this place that could be home to me?
How about the Bank of England?
Not a bad thought, actually. I would have to see what could be done about buying it.
‘Sahib?’
Still, I didn’t turn. There was no need. I knew that voice coming from behind me.
‘Yes, Karim?’
‘The captain says we will approach the coast in about half an hour. He asks if you wish to land in London, or a place called Dover.’
‘London, Karim. I paid for the whole trip across the Atlantic, and I don’t plan to get off this ship before I reach my destination only to have to hire a coach to go the rest of the way.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
There were a few seconds of silence. And this time, they didn’t just come from me.
‘Sahib?’
‘Yes, Karim?’
‘Do you think he’s waiting for us? Dalgliesh, I mean. Does he have a surprise waiting for us?’
I glanced at my bodyguard. Behind the bristly barrier of his beard, his black eyes were narrowed, staring suspiciously at the shore.
‘Do you expect him to?’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
‘Then he won’t have a surprise waiting for us, Karim.’ Reaching into the pocket of my tailcoat, I pulled out my revolver and whirled the drum. All six chambers were loaded. ‘Something you expect is never a surprise.’
Even through the beard, I could see one corner of Karim’s mouth twitch. One of his massive hands curled around the hilt of his sabre. ‘Wise words, Sahib.’
I said nothing. Instead, I looked again towards the distant cliffs.
‘I shall go and check on the goods, Sahib.’
‘Do that.’
‘And… Sahib?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure you wish to go to London? Do you not want to sail somewhat farther North? Maybe to your fam-’
I felt a muscle in my cheek twitch.
‘Go check on the cargo, Karim,” I cut him off.
‘Are you sure? We could-’
‘Go!’
‘Yes, Sahib. As you wish, Sahib.’
~~*~~*
There was a welcoming committee present when we arrived in the harbour. However, the committee did not consist of smiling family members. What a big surprise. The lights of cameras started flashing the moment I stepped onto the gangway.
‘Mr Ambrose! Mr Ambrose, why did you suddenly decide to come back to London after all those years?’
‘No comment!’
‘Mr Ambrose! A statement, please, Mr Ambrose!’
‘No comment!’
‘What do you say to the rumours that you ruined Harlow & Sons to take over their company?’
‘Yes.’
The reporters were so startled at my reply that they actually stopped badgering me with questions for a moment. The one right in front of me nearly dropped his pen and notepad. ‘W-what do you mean, yes?’
I took a step towards him, off the gangway and onto the embankment. ‘I should have thought that was obvious. I say yes to the rumours. I ruined their company to take it over. And if you don’t get out of my way I’ll do the same to your paper.’
‘Are you threatening me? I’m a member of the free press, and-’
‘-in my way.’ Taking the reporter by the scruff of the neck, I lifted him off the ground and, with a splash, dropped him into the harbour basin right beside me. He resurfaced a second later, spewing dirty seawater. I looked at the remaining reporters gathered all around me like a pack of hungry jackals, and cocked my head. ‘Do any of you gentlemen still have questions for me?’
They scattered.
‘The press here appears to be easier dealt with than in America,’ Karim commented, thoughtfully.
I nodded.
‘What about them?’ asked my bodyguard, pointing to a crowd of gape-mouthed gawkers who had gathered around the dock to stare at the splashing reporter, at the huge Mohammedan with the sabre and the turban on his head, and most of all - at me. Now that the reporters were gone, the gawkers were the only thing in our way. ‘Should I remove them, Sahib?’
I shook my head.
Stepping forward, I focused my gaze on the foremost of the spectators: a spindly little half-bald man with enormous ears. I lifted my hand, with three fingers outstretched.
One finger retracted.
Three…
Another finger followed.
Two…
I met the spindly man’s eyes. My last extended finger twitched.
The man moved faster than the fastest race horse. He stepped back so quickly that he stepped on the toes of the fat fishwife behind him. Instead of reacting in the usual manner of a fishwife and hitting him over the head with a haddock, she caught sight of me and stepped back just as hurriedly. As did the man behind her, and the one behind him, too. A corridor through the crowd began to open.