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‘And even if he hadn’t given those orders, it’d be more likely that he wante
d to see a rotten pile of seaweed than a member of the female sex.’
‘I told her that too, Mr Linton. In, um, slightly more diplomatic phrasing.’
‘How very kind of you. And?’
‘And she still insists on seeing him. So I thought…’
‘…that you could dump her into my lap?’
Mr Stone’s cheek flamed. ‘Well, um, Mr Linton, I wouldn’t exactly say it like that, I…’ His voice trailed off, and he looked at me, desperately.
I rolled my eyes. ‘All right. Send her in!’
‘Thank you, Mr Linton!’
He vanished. Moments later, another knock sounded at the door. I was surprised, for I had expected the hammering of a matron with a temper to rival that of my friend Patsy. I would have thought it would have taken a true gorgon to get past two front desks and penetrate this far into the lair of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. But the sound that came from the door was an almost apologetic little, gentle tapping, like a baby woodpecker trying his beak out for the very first time.
‘Come in!’
The door slowly swung open, and a woman entered. No - not a woman, a lady. Definitely. She was older, in her late fifties or early sixties maybe, with a wrinkled little face that showed the lines of both much joy, and much sorrow. Clad in a pink dress and with a pink parasol clutched anxiously in her hands, she looked so harmless and lost that even in my present mood, I couldn’t help but soften towards her a little. This fragile little thing wanted to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose? The poor dear had no idea what she was in for.
‘I-is this the office of…’ she gulped.
She couldn’t even say his name! Apparently, she did have some idea what she was in for. But she didn’t really understand. Not completely. She couldn’t have. If she did, she would be on a ship bound for the Colonies right now, thanking God for escaping her terrible fate.
‘Yes?’ I probed, cautiously.
‘Is this the office of Mr Rikkard Ambrose?’
‘Yes, it is.’ And it’s not too late, yet. You can leave before he gets hold of you.
The lady swallowed, her little hands clenching around the handle of her parasol. ‘I would like to see him.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see. Well…I’m afraid Mr Ambrose is busy at the moment.’
The lady swallowed again, and raised her chin. ‘I would still like to see him.’
Oh-la-la! This little lady had more mettle in her than I’d suspected at first sight - or at second, to be honest.
‘Are you acquainted with Mr Ambrose?’ I asked, cautiously.
You can’t be. You haven’t been frozen solid by his ice-cold gaze.
An expression flitted over her face. It might have been a smile - but it might just as well have been a painful wince. ‘Yes. I know…knew Mr Ambrose.’
What? From where? Where??
‘I’ve never seen you here.’
‘I’ve never been here before.’ One corner of her mouth moved up into a tremulous half-smile. ‘You have probably received some of my correspondence, however.’
It took me a moment to catch on. Then my eyes went wide, and I stared at her, really seeing her for the first time: pink dress, pink parasol, a pink bonnet on her head…
