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Dazed, I watched him kick open the door and march forward. He was moving as if I weighed no more than a feather, and in a heartbeat we were outside again. If anything, the chaos had increased. The waves were twice as high as before - high enough to easily reach over the railing and roll over the ship’s wooden deck as if it were already part of the ocean. The passengers were all crammed together in one corner beside two flimsy-looking boats, secured to the deck by ropes. Each and every one tried to jostle forward, to get into one of those fragile promises of safety.
Nobody paid attention to what we were doing - and that was a good thing. With me slung unceremoniously over his back, Mr Ambrose marched right up to the door of the cabin next to mine and drew back his foot. It came forward again in a lightning-fast movement and connected with the door with a thunderous crash that nobody noticed over the roar of the wind and the sea.
‘Mr Ambrose!’ I protested. ‘That’s Lady Timberlake’s cabin!’
‘Exactly,’ he said, and drew his foot back again. ‘That’s why I’m kicking the door down.’
Once more, his foot shot forward.
Crack!
The door burst inward, splinters of wood from around the lock flying everywhere. Not waiting for me to protest again, Mr Ambrose marched inside and slammed the door behind us. For a moment, we were in darkness. Unlike my cabin, where I had left a lamp burning, Lady Timberlake’s cabin was not illuminated, and even though there was a window, no light came out of the dark storm outside. The clouds had long blocked out the moon and the stars. They were gathering to cast the world into shadow, to use it as the dark anvil for the bright hammer of lightning.
Suddenly, Mr Ambrose slid me off his back and more or less shoved me away. Panicking, I tried to grab him, but caught only empty air.
‘Mr Ambrose?’ I turned my head left and right, but could see only black. I didn’t want to be alone! Not in this dreadful chaos of death that was coming down on us. ‘Mr Ambrose? Where are you, Sir?’
Silence.
‘Where are you, darn it?’
Without warning, a light flickered to life in the corner of the room, and I had to shield my eyes from the bright invasion. Mr Ambrose stood there, holding a safety lamp, next to a large trunk that stood open beside Lady Timberlake’s bunk bed. As I watched, he bent down and pulled out something enormous, pink and frilly, which glittered in the lamplight. He held it out to me.
‘Put this on!’ There was no doubt in his voice, no room for hesitation or argument. It was a command. And I didn’t care.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
‘Never!’ I didn’t want to leave his side. I couldn’t. Besides, I, unlike poor old Lady Timberlake, actually had some dress sense.
He took a step forward, the dangerous glint in his eyes intensified a thousandfold by the light of the lamp he held up. The flickering flame shone on his face and gave it a whole new appearance, the sharp angles thrown into clearer contrast, the hardness now more clearly visible than ever before.
‘You are going to change into female attire this minute, Mr Linton, or I swear, by all the banknotes of the Bank of England, I will rip your clothes of and stuff you into a skirt myself! Do you understand?’
At any other time, the thought of him ripping my clothes off might have unleashed a torrent of forbidden images and dreams. Not now, though. Now, there was a real torrent coming for us. From somewhere not far away, I heard wood splintering, and the ship shuddered. It wouldn’t be long now.
‘Do you understand, Mr Linton?’ he repeated, enunciating each word, his teeth clenched. I couldn’t escape his penetrating glare. And somehow, I found, I couldn’t deny him.
‘Y-yes, Sir.’
‘Adequate.’ He nodded, turning on his heels and marching towards the door.
‘I’ll be waiting outside,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Don’t take too long. Your dressing room is sinking.’
*~*~**~*~*
I stepped out onto the deck. Mr Ambrose already awaited me.
‘You took your time,’ he observed.
‘It was difficult to get the dress on,’ I said, my voice as lifeless as the rest of me. ‘The buttons are at the back.’
There were so many things I should have said. Yet that was all I could think of. The buttons are at the back.
The ship swayed, and I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself. Mr Ambrose didn’t move an inch, somehow seeming able to sway contrary to the ship’s motion, so he was always standing ramrod straight. He held out his arm to me.
‘Shall we?’
I stared down at it. Having dressed up as a man for so long, I had almost forgotten how a gentleman was supposed to behave to a lady, and that he was the former, while I was the latter. To have this resurface now that we were in danger of sinking into bottomless depths forever was the cruellest of mockeries. With shaking hands, I clutched his arm, and we proceeded down the ship, towards the clamouring crowd beside the lifeboats.
