Quite an elaborate coat of arms, too. I didn’t know much about the nobility, but I knew enough to realize that a crest like this didn’t come from a simple knighthood. The coat of arms had the look of centuries on it: the rose in the upper right and the lion in the lower left corner reminded me of the little I had remembered of my lessons in English history.
In a flash, I suddenly remembered what one of the ladies at the ball had said… something about a noble family Ambrose in the North. An Earl’s family.
‘I’ll be damned!’
But no… that couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be Mr Ambrose’s family, could it? If he were an earl’s son, he wouldn’t be calling himself 'Mister' Ambrose. He would have the right to call himself Baron or Lord Somethingorother.
Curious. Very curious indeed.
And who was this lady? Samantha?
With a slight feeling of regret at letting go of the mystery, I placed the pink letter back on the table. For just a moment I considered throwing it away. It was obviously full of soppy romantic nonsense - nothing important, in my opinion. Yet Mr Ambrose might feel differently about the matter.
When I rose with all the letters in my hand, I realized for the first time that now was my chance to finally see him again! The thick pile of letters couldn’t fit under the door, so he had to open it. Triumphantly I marched over to the door and raised my hand to knock - only to discover that in my absence, a letter slot had been installed in the middle of the thick wooden door.
Angrily, I pushed the letters through and heard them land on some kind of table. ‘Here,’ I called. ‘I hope you choke on them!’
Shortly afterwards, the slot opened again and several of the letters fell onto the floor with a resounding ‘thwack!’ When I went over and picked them up, I saw that it was the charity requests and the letter from Samantha Genevieve - the latter hadn’t even been opened.
A note was fastened to the top letter:
Mr Linton,
Did Mr Stone not express himself clearly? Only send those letters to me which are of interest to me.
I stared blankly at the note. Was he serious? He hadn’t even bothered to open the pink letter, so clearly personal. Neither had he bothered to sign his message to me, this time - but really there was no need. There was only one person in the entire British Empire who could write like this.
Angrily I stomped over to my desk, grabbed one of the message papers and a pen and began scribbling.
Charity is important! Is the improvement of the lives of the poor of no interest to you?
The reply came almost instantly.
Not if by so doing they become richer and I poorer.
‘Gah!’
Grinding my teeth, I took a look around the office: bare stone walls, no ornaments, no carpets, no nothing. Of course! He was mean with money. I should have guessed from the way he dressed - all in simple black without one piece of colourful brocade or silk on his waistcoat. He practically had the word ‘SKINFLINT’ printed on his forehead. In capitals.
Too bad he didn’t look like a skinflint. He should be old and ugly and skinny, like my aunt, not some reincarnation of Adonis in granite. That would make working for him so much easier!
But what about the personal letter? Taking that out of the pile, I examined it closely. It really hadn’t been opened. Who was it from? What was it about? Why hadn’t it been opened? My fingers hesitated over the next piece of message paper. I would have loved to ask but didn’t dare. I didn’t want to get fired on my second day at work.
So instead I wrote:
Dear Mr Ambrose,
Be assured that you shall receive no further requests to do good deeds from me.
Yours Sincerely
MISS Lilly Linton
The reply wasn’t long in coming.
Mr Linton,
It is not doing good deeds that I object to, it is the principle of charity. I do not give something for nothing. Remember that, Mr Linton.
Rikkard Ambrose
Dear God, was he threatening me?
Yes, probably.
A tingle went down my spine. It felt dangerous, dark and… exciting?
Then another message popped out of the hole in the wall.
Mr Linton,
Bring me file 38XI199.
Rikkard Ambrose
Spiffing. Here we go again.
~~*~~*
Back and forth, back and forth I went the whole day, like a busy little ant carrying bits of leaves to the hill - only that I carried darn heavy files instead of leaves. Oh, and there also was the fact that ants could lift five times their body weight and that they couldn’t get chucked out of the anthill for not working fast enough.
Lucky ants.
I, for my part, heard a fresh plink that announced another demand for a file every five minutes. Apparently Mr Ambrose was still determined to break my resolution and make me give him some excuse for firing me. Ha! That fellow didn’t know me from Adam!
Or rather Eve, since I was a girl.
Some part of me wondered what he did with all those files. Surely, a secretary’s duties consisted of more than carrying files? Having letters dictated, for example.
‘Oh, but for that he’d have to actually speak to me,’ I muttered, grabbing another box of files from the shelves. ‘And he couldn’t do that, now could he! Blast him!’
While I slaved away, my determination grew. I would keep this job. Moreover, I would make him accept me as a girl, and then I could come to work in my own clothes and stop wearing this stupid top hat! But how to make him accept me?
‘I have to catch him,’ I growled, grabbing the next box and imagining that it was Mr Ambrose’s stiff neck. ‘I have to grab him and simply make him see!’
Yesterday, I hadn’t been able to get to him in time, and he had escaped. Today, he had placed his watchdog in front of the door - but he would have to come out eventually. To prevent him slipping away like last time, I cracked my office door open and kept an ear out for any steps moving out there.
As the day progressed, I got more and more excited. The thought of seeing him again - and of giving him a whopping big piece of my mind - was thrilling. I hadn’t set eyes on him since the day he not-so-graciously accepted me into his service, and I was looking forward to the encounter very much. Hm… Did punching your employer count as grounds for dismissal?
Too bad I didn’t have my parasol with me.
Some time around twelve o'clock, the requests for files suddenly stopped.
Ah! He was preparing to leave. Now he had to be coming soon. I sidled up to the door in anticipation.
Steps approached my door. What? Was he coming to see me? No, the steps didn’t sound like him. Too slow, too timid. There was a knock on my door and Mr Stone’s voice called: ‘Mr Linton? May I come in?’
‘Please do,’ I said, stepping back, frowning.
Mr Stone entered with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. ‘I am to inform you,’ he said, ‘that Mr Ambrose has left again and that you can finish your day early, too, if you want to.’
‘What?!’
‘Yes, the strangest matter indeed. He never leaves early normally, and now twice in a row? And this time he even went down the back staircase that is normally never used. I am beginning to fear for our master’s safety.’
‘You are, are you?’ I grabbed my top hat off the desk and slammed it on my head with probably a bit too much force. ‘Well, you’re right to be!’
Mr Stone paled. ‘So you think, too, that his life is in danger? That there is someone after him?’
‘You bet there is,’ I growled and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind me.
Oh that… I couldn’t even think of a bad enough word for him! The next time I would get my hands on him, I would take one of those little message containers with the words 'I AM FEMALE' in it and stuff it down his throat!
~~*~~*