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‘Don’t worry,’ I told her another very true fact. ‘I think I’ll be pretty busy all day.’
When nobody was looking, I slipped out of the back door into the garden and snuck into the shed. There, my new set of clothes was already waiting for me. During the last few weeks, I had been using my uncle’s old Sunday best, which he hadn’t used for years, but that had gone down with the Channel ferry. My new attire consisted of pretty much the same ghastly mixture of cheap trousers and tailcoat, only these weren’t three sizes too large for me.
A few minutes later, I stepped out into the street, successfully transformed from Miss Lilly Linton, suffragette and part-time trampler of men’s feet, into Mr Victor Linton, secretary to Mr Rikkard Ambrose of 322 Leadenhall Street, London. The new me gave the passing cabs a regretful glance - but I ha
d just informed my uncle I didn’t want an allowance any more, and it was still about a week until I would receive my first pay cheque. So this wasn’t the time for luxuries. Straightening my shoulders, I started marching towards my goal, my feet already aching.
Not as much as they will be once he is through with you.
The thought came out of nowhere, like an adder in the grass. Sneaky! Blast, I wasn’t going to surrender to him before I had even started.
It won’t be long until you will be begging to be sacked - he said that. He meant it. You know he always does.
Yes, blast him! But so did I! I wasn’t going to give up! Not ever!
What do you think he’s going to do?
My foot caught on something, and I almost stumbled. Bloody hell! I should be watching where I was going!
Or even better: you should be thinking about whether to go at all!
Oh, shut up!
When I turned the corner into Leadenhall Street, I didn’t waste a glance on the other buildings, not even on East India House, the headquarters of Mr Ambrose’s main business rival and personal arch-enemy. My eyes were drawn to it, the largest building on the street, the largest building anywhere in London as far as I knew, with the possible exception of Buckingham Palace.
Empire House rose high, high into the air above the other buildings. Its size was not in breadth, but in climbing far above the other buildings, towards the sky. When first I saw the building, I couldn’t think why. Now I felt sure I knew: it was cheaper to build high on a smaller piece of ground. Plus, I had to admit, it looked much more intimidating. And Mr Ambrose was as much into intimidation as he was into keeping his purse tightly closed.
Cautiously, I approached the portico. I half-expected him to jump out at me from behind one of the two gigantic support columns.
Don’t be silly! Get a move on, Lilly!
Crossing the street, I climbed up the steps to the half-open door and entered the entrance hall. Immediately, I was surrounded by cool shadows and the patter of hundreds of busy little feet, coming from busy little clerks hurrying through the hall like ants through an anthill. The narrow windows let in only a few rays of sunlight, and the stone walls were completely bare of decoration.
I gave a happy sigh.
Home.
Except, of course, for the little fact that this was a huge stone monument to mammon, not a home. A monument of which not a single brick belonged to me. And in its bowels waited not a welcoming committee but a stone-faced madman who wanted to devour me for breakfast and spit me out again.
Don’t be melodramatic, Lilly! At least not now! You can do that on your own time!
Fighting an urge to linger, I advanced towards the sallow-faced receptionist behind the desk at the back of the hall, and nodded a greeting.
Sallow-face nodded back. ‘You may go up, Mr Linton. Mr Ambrose is expecting you.’
Oh, he is, is he?
I hardly noticed my aching feet while climbing up the stairs. My brain was too focused on wild, chaotic fears to have room for pain.
Blast, blast, blast! He’s going to try to get rid of you again!
My feet touched the third landing. I hurried on without pausing.
Yes, he is. But what can he do? Make you carry more files than before?
Fourth landing… fifth… Outside, the bell of St Paul’s Cathedral started to strike the hour.
‘What can he do?’ Did you really have to ask yourself that question?
