I made a smile flicker across my face, with just the right amount of feminine feebleness and a pinch of sadness thrown in.
‘You are too clever, too persistent for me, Sir. You are right. There is indeed a man I am looking for, a man who has done a grievous wrong. I have heard that he might be in this hotel, and have come in the hope of finding a gentleman willing to aid me. And now I have. Oh Sir, you have no idea how great a pleasure it is for a weak girl such as myself to find that there are still strong and honourable men in the world willing to stand up for what is right.’
The receptionist’s narrow chest swelled. I fluttered my moist eyelashes at him and it swelled some more. I briefly wondered whether he had a balloon and a pump hidden under his shirt.
‘Whatever wrong this man has done to you,’ he promised, his voice a bit deeper than it had been before, ‘I shall see to it that he gets what is coming to him.’
‘Thank you, Sir, thank you!’ I clutched his hand with both of mine and gave it a gentle, grateful squeeze. As if I had squeezed a trigger, his chest puffed out a little more. Interesting. This seemed to be a reflex reaction with the brain playing no part in the decision. Well, in what part of the male decision-making process did the brain ever play a part?
‘Thank you,’ I repeated. ‘I shall be eternally grateful to you. But it is not to me that the wrong was done - it is to my sister.’
‘Oh.’ The receptionist looked slightly crestfallen at this news, so I quickly ploughed on, giving him another sad smile. ‘Oh yes, my poor, innocent little sister. Dear Ophelia.’
I had heard the name in a play once. It seemed to fit, because immediately, the concern on the face of the receptionist returned.
‘She… Oh, I can’t bring myself to say it. You must understand, Sir, she has been educated in a convent. She does not know the ways of men who are no gentlemen, who are not like you. You must not judge her too harshly.’
I sniffled a bit more.
‘What happened?’ he gently enquired.
‘She… she eloped. A man staying in the village of the convent enticed her with honeyed words, sweet words of love and eternal devotion. He said he would marry her.’
The receptionist’s mouth dropped open.
‘How shocking!’
‘Oh no, Sir, the shocking part is yet to come. As I said - my sister is young, only sixteen years of age. She was deceived by his words.’
‘Deceived? Do you mean that when…’
‘When they had run away together, he… he…’ I closed my eyes at this point. It seemed the right thing to do. After all, I was in such terrible pain about my poor little sister Olivia. Or was it Olga? No, Ophelia, right! ‘He used her and then threw her away like a soiled handkerchief, left her at the first inn where they stopped and disappeared into the night.’
‘The devil!’
‘Oh please, Sir, your language.’
‘I beg your pardon, Miss,’ the receptionist said, his face reddened, ‘but you must agree that only a demon in human guise, or perhaps a Frenchman, not an English gentleman, should be expected to behave in such a manner.’
‘I cannot argue with you, Sir. It is not in my power to offer anything in defence of that man. Even though I might not like the harsh terms in which you express your view of him, it is nevertheless justified.’
The receptionist, overcome with his emotions and his manliness for a moment, stood there mute, holding my hand in silent support.
‘And what is to become of your sister now?’ He asked after a moment. ‘What will your father do?’
‘That is just the thing.’ Renewed tears sprang to my eyes - and I didn’t even have to use another onion. I wasn’t just good at this, I was top-hole![24] A natural talent! ‘We have not a father nor a mother, not even an uncle. We are all alone in the world, Ophelia and I, and have only each other.’
‘And your name is?’
That was something I had pondered for quite a while before starting to put this little plan of mine into action. I mean, Lilly Linton? That didn’t sound very romantic. It clucked off the tongue, rebounded from the teeth and came shooting out of the mouth like cannon fire. No. I needed a name with weight. With romance. So why not let myself be inspired by romance?
‘Juliet,’ I said. ‘Miss Juliet Desdemona Bennet.’
‘Miss Bennet, you have my sincerest condolences.’ He pressed my hand again, with all the masculinity he could muster. ‘Both for the death of your parents and the misfortune that has befallen you since. I stand in awe at your bravery, for I can see what has happened since. For love of your sister, you went out in search of this man, did you not? You, who had no one in the world, dared to go after such a monster?’
‘How could I not?’ I asked, my voice wavering just right. ‘Ophelia is my only sister. Her honour and happiness mean more to me than life itself.’
‘And you suspect him of staying in our hotel, this man?’
Oh boy. This was really working out nicely. Apparently I had delivered the first part of my performance so well that he was doing the rest of the job for me. So I just gave a shaky little nod.
‘He shall be brought before the magistrate!’ the receptionist proclaimed.
‘Oh no! No, Sir, I beg of you!’ Quickly I pressed his hand, which immediately caused some more chest-puffing. Yes, apparently this was a male reflex and worked quite automatically. Fascinating. ‘If that were to happen, if the whole matter were to become public, my sister’s honour would be forever ruined!’
‘Oh, I see.’ Floundering for a moment, the receptionist enquired: ‘But what, then, do you intend to do?’
‘I intend to confront him. To force him to marry my sister after all.’
‘You alone? Miss Bennet, that would be far too dangerous.’
‘I shall not be alone. There is a man - an old acquaintance of my father - who has promised to assist me. He cannot aid me in the search because he has his sick wife to take care of, but once I have found the miscreant, he has sworn he will come and place before the man the choice: to marry my sister or fight a duel to the death.’
The receptionist nodded solemnly.
‘Then all that remains for me to do, Miss Bennet, is to determine whether or not you are right in your suspicion that this man is staying with us.’
Wonderful! I couldn’t have put it better myself.
‘Indeed, Sir,’ I said, blinking up at him tearfully, ‘that would be most kind.’
Most kind indeed. Now get on with it before the onion stops working.
The receptionist went back behind the counter and picked up the big book in which all the guests signed their names. ‘If you would be so good as to tell me his name, Miss?’
‘His name is Mr Simmons. But I doubt he would have used his real name to sign into your book. He knows he is being sought and will probably make use of an alias.’
‘How clever of you!’ the receptionist exclaimed. ‘I would never have thought of that.’
That, I believed.
‘But then how will we find out if he is here?’ he asked.
‘I can give you his description,’ I offered. Finally we were getting to the interesting part. ‘My sister has told me exactly what he looks like. He has quite a distinctive appearance.’
‘Then please do.’ The receptionist nodded eagerly. ‘I see all the people who check into our hotel, and it is part of my job to have a good memory for faces. I will certainly be able to tell you whether he is here.’
‘Oh, I am so relieved.’ I put a trembling hand over my heart. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Sir. The man I am looking for is tall and gangly, with a long nose, long blonde hair and a thin moustache, and a scar over his right eyebrow.’
A curious expression spread over the receptionist’s face: a mixture of disappointment and relief.
‘Well, that is quite distinctive, Miss, and I can tell you right away that we have no one of that description living under our roof.’
‘Indeed?’ I began to back up. ‘Well… then I was wrong. Sorry for your trouble.’
‘Wait a minute, Miss. What will you…’
‘I suppose I will have to go look somewhere else now. Bye!’