Besides, maybe I could force Mr Ambrose to look at me at least once by turning up three hours early.
I turned into Leadenhall Street and marched towards my destination. This early in the morning, the foggy streets were pretty much empty of people. Thus, the two huge shapes that dominated the street were even more overpowering than usual: On the left, the stark, towering Empire House; on the right the broad, elegant fa?ade of East India House. The two buildings facing off over the street like that reminded me of Mr Ambrose and Lord Dalgliesh shaking hands in the ballroom. Just as they had back then, this confrontational stance looked almost… threatening.
Shaking my head, I looked away from East India House and started up the stairs of my workplace. I was being fanciful.
Only when I reached the door of Empire House did it occur to me to wonder how I might get into the building. As yet, it seemed to be deserted. The door was firmly locked, and when I peered in through one of the high, narrow windows, I couldn’t see a soul inside. I couldn’t even see somebody without a soul inside - a condition, I was sure, that applied to many of the men who normally occupied its bustling halls, especially the one who paid all the others.
As I walked back from the window to the front door, something clinked in my pocket. Of course! The ring of keys Mr Ambrose had given me. How could I have not thought of it before?
Well, if I thought about it, it wasn’t that surprising. There surely wouldn’t be a key to the front door on the ring, not after the defection of Mr Ambrose’s last secretary and considering the fact that I didn’t have the right gender. He wouldn’t trust me in a million years!
But it can’t hurt to try, right? After all, you’re already here.
I stuck the first key into the keyhole, although I had already seen that it was much too small. Of course, it didn’t fit. Neither did the second, nor the third, although they seemed to be of more appropriate shape. I shoved another one into the keyhole, knowing already that this, too, wouldn’t work, although it looked deceptively fitting. I tried to turn it.
There was a click, and the lock snapped open.
I stared at the door in disbelief.
Cautiously, I stretched out a hand and pushed against it. It swung open a few inches with an eerie squeak, then stopped. I pushed again, and it opened far enough for a human being to enter. Maybe I was hallucinating? Maybe the door had already been unlocked? Quickly, I slipped inside and faced a vast hall of empty silence. No Sallow-face behind the desk, no multitude of clerks hurrying about, doing Mammon only knows what. I hadn’t been mistaken: the door had been firmly locked.
The key had worked. Could it actually be that Mr Ambrose trusted me?
Not letting myself think about this too deeply just now, I turned around, pulled the door shut hurriedly and locked it after me. Then I began the long ascent to my office, my stomach churning all the way. How would Mr Ambrose treat me after what had happened at the ball? What would he think of me? Did he think even less of me now, because he had seen me in a dress and been reminded of the fact that I was female?
My hands balled into fists at the very thought. It just wasn’t fair that he would stare at this Miss Hamilton like she was the most precious thing on earth to him, while treating me like a piece of dirt! She was just as female as I was! In fact, a darn sight more obviously female, considering the rather revealing nature of her dress. Just because I wanted to be independent and earn my living, I wasn’t supposed to be entitled to the same treatment as she? I wouldn’t allow that! I would force him to respect me. And I would start by giving him a nice surprise.
Since you’re so early… How about waiting in his office and, when he arrives, making some very smart remark about him being a bit late for work?
I grinned. That would nettle him to no end, I was sure!
With light steps I crossed the length of the hallway and stuck the right key into the keyhole when I reached the door to his office. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he arrived and I was already there, waiting for him.
The door swung open - revealing a Mr Rikkard Ambrose, sitting straight as a ruler behind his dark wood desk, studying papers. He glanced up briefly from the papers he was reading, his cool expression not altering in the slightest.
‘Ah, Mr Linton. You are here, finally.’
Bloody Work
Looking down at his papers again, Mr Ambrose gestured to a pile of files and a box beside him on the desk. ‘Deposit these in that box over there, will you?’
I gaped at him, speechless. It was five in the morning!
When, after a few moments, he noticed that I still hadn’t moved, he looked up again. Mr Ambrose would never go so far as to actually raise a questioning eyebrow, but he didn’t need to.
‘You are still standing, although I gave you an order. Any particular reason?’
‘Do you sleep here or what?’ I demanded indignantly.
He looked down again.
‘Why so interested in my sleeping arrangements, Mr Linton? Were you thinking of joining me? If so, I must disappoint you. I do have a bed here, but it would not be wide enough.’
Several things ran through my mind at the moment which I could throw at him, none of which were fit for polite conversation and all of which were likely to get me sacked on the spot. I swallowed my anger and hoped it wouldn’t give me indigestion.
Instead I said: ‘I am three hours early, Mr Ambrose.’
He nodded.
‘Yes, I noticed. Now stop dawdling and take care of those files. Return to me when you are done. Since you are here, I have something else for you to do.’
I went and got the files, praying vehemently that the ‘something’ he wanted me to do involved a sharp sword and the severing of his head from his body. In no time at all I was back in front of his desk, and I still had not exploded or run to get sharp weapons. I was rather impressed with myself.
‘The files are stored as ordered, Mr Ambrose, Sir,’ I said in as sweet a tone as I could manage.
‘I see.’
No ‘Well done’ or ‘Thank you’. He didn’t even raise his head from his papers.
‘Sir? What is it you wished me to do?’
‘To wait until I have finished reading. Then I will give your instructions.’
I closed my eyes and slowly counted to ten to calm myself. Unfortunately, it didn’t work, so I continued to fifteen and then to twenty. But when I reached fifty, I was still just as infuriated as I had been at one. Did he have to be so… cool? So distant?
51, 52, 53…
Well, he was Mr Ambrose, so he was naturally about as warm and welcoming as a freshly calved iceberg, but still. It aggravated me more now than it had before, having seen, in contrast, his infatuated behaviour towards that bloody female the other night at the ball.
64, 65, 66, 67…
And of course he had to have horrible taste in ladies! I wouldn’t have minded if she had been a halfway decent creature, but this Hamilton person was a femme fatale and would leach all the life and money he had out of him.
‘Mr Linton?’
79, 80, 81…
I was incredulous that he couldn’t see it or that he couldn’t find a better woman.
‘Mr Linton!’
He should be able to find another. After all, he was, I had to admit, abominably handsome. Very, very handsome…
97, 98, 99…
‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, I am talking to you!’
‘What?’ My eyes flew open and I blinked at Mr Ambrose, who was staring at me coolly over the top of his business papers.
‘Mr Linton, I have called your name about five times now and you have been just standing there with your eyes closed. If you are not fully awake yet, I had rather you return home and waste your own time sleeping there than waste my time here. There is work to do.’
I raised my chin and met his gaze unflinchingly.
‘I am completely awake, Sir.’
‘Indeed? Then go and fetch a small leather-bound volume out of the left part of the lowest drawer of your desk. And keep your eyes open while you are walking, will you? I would hate for you to walk against a wall by accident.’