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‘Indeed?’ Spearing me with a gaze that was far too perceptive for my liking, Mr Ambrose lifted a fresh pile of balance sheets. ‘According to my new calculations, we will still need three days to finish with these. If we are not interrupted, that is. We will not leave London in the near future. The closest scheduled business trip is in a month.’
Damn! That wasn’t nearly quick enough. If everything went the way Aunt Brank wanted it, I’d be married and have five squalling brats by then. No matter how biologically unlikely, if I stayed in London, she’d manage it somehow!
‘We’ve wasted enough time. Get back to work, Mr Linton!’
‘Yes, Sir. Immediately, Sir.’
I threw myself mindlessly back into work. My mind was off calculating contingency plans. Was there some way I could possibly prevent this marriage? Puke on my fiancé? Proclaim to be an anarchist and mass-murderer? Drug my husband-to-be with opium and ship him off to the East Indies?
No. Nothing would work. Aunt Brank would make me clean up the vomit. She already knew I was an anarchist, and if I shipped a baronet off to the East Indies, the British Government was sure to take exception.
I had to get out! And I had to do it now. Mr Ambrose was my only hope.
Crap.
Abruptly, I rose to my feet. ‘Excuse me, please, Sir. I have to get new ink.’
All I received in reply was a curt nod. Quickly, I turned and dashed out of the room - but not to refill my inkwell. In moments, I was through the door from his office into mine and had started pulling down files from the shelves. In a frenzy, I started leafing through them, desperate to discover something, anything that would help me! These were the pages where Mr Ambrose had recorded all his ventures and adventures, all his profitable journeys all around the world. There had to be something in some remote corner of the earth that could still spit out enough money to arouse Mr Ambrose’s interest! There simply had to be! Had to! Had to…
Ah!
*~*~**~*~*
‘Mr Ambrose?’
Silence.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
More silence. Freezing silence.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir, I’ve been thinking…’
‘Again?’
‘Yes, Sir. Indeed I have, Sir.’
‘Try to control the urge, Mr Linton.’
I tried to control the urge all right - the urge to kick him where the sun doesn’t shine! It was only with great effort that I remained seated and continued leafing through the balance sheets, feigning a casual attitude.
‘Of course,’ I assured him. ‘I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll be quiet. I just thought you’d maybe like to know about…well, let’s forget it. I’m sure the gold will be found by somebody sooner or later.’
The last sentence hung in the air, the word ‘gold’ thrumming ominously in the silence. In my head, I counted the seconds.
Three…
Two…
One…
‘Gold? What gold, Mr Linton?’
Bingo!
‘Oh, nothing.’ Not looking up from the balance sheets, I waved my hand dismissively. ‘Just something I thought you would be interested in - but no matter. You said leaving town is out of the question, so it doesn’t signify.’
‘What gold, Mr Linton? Tell me, now!’
