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‘I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival,’ he told me with a small bow of his head as I came down the stairs, my steps cautious, as if approaching an unknown wild animal.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, if I took too long. I had a few files to put away and…’
‘Don’t apologize, don't apologize. After today, all these petty matters of business won’t seem like much to you, I assure you.’
What did he mean by that? That the rest of my employment would be one continuous tea party?
My bewilderment grew as he opened the door and gestured for me to get in.
‘Since when do gentlemen open doors for other gentlemen?’ I asked archly, gesturing to my male attire.
‘They do not, in general. But soon enough the perspective on what you are might shift.’
His words left me reeling. Did he mean what I thought he meant? Was he really considering to accept me as a female employee, dress and all? I hardly managed to get into the coach, my head was so full of questions. Why this sudden turnaround? How was it possible? Why now? The day before yesterday he had still been adamant about getting rid of me, adamant that I should not be involved in the investigation of the theft because this matter was too dangerous for a lady. A
nd now… Had he changed his mind?
Somehow though, although his words seemed to indicate a change of mind, the tone made me hesitant to rejoice. There was something behind the words, some dark intent not yet revealed, that made me shiver.
Nonsense! Shaking my head, I settled down at the right window of the coach, facing the horses. You’re imagining things! Stop and enjoy the moment!
Mr Ambrose took the seat beside me and tapped the roof of the carriage with his cane.
‘You know our destination, driver. Go!’
Without a word in reply the coach started to move.
We drove in silence. There were many things I wanted to say - questions I wanted to ask, thanks I wanted to give - but something held me back. He for his part was still smiling the same brilliant smile he had worn all day yesterday and today. For the first time I had leisure to study his smile in more detail and was surprised by what I found. It somehow looked… unnatural.
I remembered the small quarter-smile he had once deigned to give me, long ago. That had seemed much more natural, much more himself. This iridescent show of teeth… If you studied it long enough it put you in mind of the smile a drowning man might see in the ocean, topped by a dorsal fin and approaching fast and hungrily.
Oh, don’t be such an old worrywart! You should have a more optimistic outlook on the future!
To distract myself I looked out of the window - and jerked upright in my seat! We were going down Oxford Street, the street that led away from Leadenhall Street in a westerly direction. The direction of Hyde Park.
This had to be a strange coincidence. Surely, we would soon turn away to the left or to the right, to wherever this mysterious appointment of Mr Ambrose’s was.
No, we didn’t. Instead we kept going straight down Oxford Street. I was no longer lost in thought. I was hanging out of the window, gripping my uncle’s old top hat with both hands to prevent it from being blown off by the wind.
‘Something interesting to see, Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice came from within the coach. I didn’t reply. There were indeed a great many things to be seen: the closer we got to Hyde Park, the more people were milling in the streets. Apparently they were heading towards the park. A great event seemed about to take place.
He calls you Mister again. Something is happening here.
Over the heads of the crowd, I could see the black iron of Cumberland Gate in the distance. The gate stood wide open, and loud voices drifted from the Park in our direction.
Naturally they did. This was the northeast corner of the Park, after all: Speaker’s Corner.[43]
There were several people there, standing on wooden boxes or on the ground. But nearly all of them had given up trying to catch the crowd’s attention. The focus was clearly on a group of important-looking men standing on a large podium right behind Cumberland Gate.
Then I saw the large banner suspended over the podium.
‘MEETING OF THE ANTI-SUFFRAGIST LEAGUE - UNITE IN THE STRUGGLE FOR THE NATURAL WORLD ORDER AND WOMAN’S GOD-GIVEN PLACE IN THE WORLD’
My head whipped to the side to stare at Mr Ambrose - just in time to see the smile drain from his face like wet paint from a wall in the middle of a hailstorm. And I realized that was all it had ever been: paint, over a perfect, cold, merciless granite statue.
The coach stopped.
‘Come, Mr Linton,’ he ordered, meeting my eyes with his icy gaze and pushing open the door. ‘Or else we shall be late for this very important event.’
