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‘There is no spider,’ I informed my dear employer.
‘That’s,’ he ground out between clenched teeth, ‘because while you were staring, it decided to move up into my tailcoat. Get my shirt open! Now!’
Dear me! This spider was a clever little fellow.
‘Why don’t you open it yourself? Buttons aren’t complicated like a belt. You should be able open them without shifting too much.’
‘I’m not going to move an inch. Didn’t you hear Chandresh? Some of those beasts are poisonous. I do not intend to end my days in the Amazonian Jungle, brought down by a mere spider bite.’
Rising to my feet, I lifted an eyebrow.
‘And you’re not worried that I’ll be bitten?’
‘I doubt one poisonous spider would suffer much from the bite of another.’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you are a real gentleman, Mr Ambrose?’
‘No.’
‘Well, don’t expect them to.’
My eager fingers started on his tailcoat and vest.
‘You know,’ I muttered, ‘you’re the only man I’ve ever known who wore a black vest under a black tailcoat - apart from undertakers.’
‘We can discuss fashion later, Mr Linton. Get the shirt off!’
‘Why, Sir! I never thought you’d be so forward with an innocent maiden like me.’
‘You’re going to pay for this later, Mr Linton.’
‘No, you are. You are the employer, remember? You pay me, not the other way around.’
He gave me an arctic glare as good as a dozen curses. After that, I decided it would be politic to indeed get a move on. Besides, if you got a chance to fondle Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s naked chest, would you pass it up?
That was a rhetorical question.
I unbuttoned his shirt and cautiously slid it off, taking time to appreciate his marvellous musculature in the process. He was so impressive, it took me a moment to notice the large, hairy black spider sitting on his chest.
‘Eew.’ I pulled a face. ‘Nasty little beast!’
‘Precisely my opinion, Mr Linton,’ he managed to get out without moving his lips. ‘Now w
ill you get it off me?’
‘Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!’
Picking up a stick from the ground, I slowly slid it under the spider’s hairy belly.
‘Three…two…one…now!’
One flick of my wrist, and the spider flew away, landing a few feet away on the soggy ground. I could have left it at that. But if I had, I wouldn’t have been me. So instead, I whipped out my gun, levelled it at the little beast and fired.
Bam!
When the echoes of the shot had died away, all that was left of the spider were a few hairy remnants. Lifting the gun to my mouth, I blew the smoke away and batted my eyelashes at Mr Ambrose.
‘Will you look at that? The heroine has saved the day. Now, all that remains for the hero to do is to fall into her arms, weep on her chest and offer up his virtue in gratitude.’
