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Up until that day when all went wrong.
The Davidian Method
The day started out so nice. I woke up at a reasonable hour and knew immediately that I didn’t have to go to work. Even Mr Ambrose could not force me to work while I was a lady guest in the house of his parents over the Christmas season. (Not that he didn’t try, but sometimes Lady Samantha could be admirably firm.)
So I just lay there in bed that fine morning and listened to the birds sing for a while. When the maid arrived to help me dress I was well awake and eager for breakfast.
Breakfast, too, was nice. I was seated next to Mr Ambrose (Lady Samantha, besides being firm, could sometimes also be very lacking in subtlety) and together, we enjoyed the first meal of the day in semi-companionable silence. Everyone was smiling. Everyone except Mr Ambrose, of course, but even he seemed to be not quite as stony as usual. There was a light in his eyes that, with any other man, might have produced a smile. Captain Carter was smiling, too - positively beaming, actually, for some reason! It was all so nice. Which made what happened next even more of a shock.
The moment breakfast was over, Captain Carter strode over to me. ‘Might I have a brief word with you, Miss Linton? There’s something I’d like to tell you.’
He was smiling so broadly, it was hard for me not to smile back. My fear that yesterday would lead to awkwardness between us instantly evaporated. He was still the same wonderfully strange Captain James Carter. Something really amazing had to have happened to put him in such a good mood.
I held up my half-finished glass of hot chocolate. ‘I’ll be with you directly. Wait for me in the small green drawing room, will you?’
‘Certainly, Miss Linton.’
When he was gone, I threw a sly sideways glance at Mr Ambrose. I wasn’t going to do anything like asking his permission, of course. That would be absolutely unfeminist. But there was nothing to say against checking to see his reaction, right? Just to see if I would have to deal with full-blown arctic rage, or only mild frostbite.
Apparently, however, my sly glance wasn’t sly enough.
He nodded. ‘Go.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
Again, a nod. ‘As I said - whenever the two of you cross paths, I shall not interfere.’
Odd…those were the exact same words he had used yesterday. Only now it occurred to me how strangely that sentence was phrased. My eyes narrowed. I opened my mouth to demand answers - but then, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Captain Carter disappear into the small green drawing room.
Mr Ambrose could wait. Whatever devious plan he was pursuing would surely take at least a few hours to be ready. More than enough time to have my little chat with Captain Carter, go back and squeeze all the necessary information out of Mr Stone Face. So I gulped down the last bit of hot chocolate, put down my cup, rose and followed the good captain into the next room.
We weren’t alone - a few older ladies, friends of Lady Samantha, were sitting in a corner chatting over their needlework - but the other occupants of the room didn’t bother us, and besides, Captain Carter looked excited enough to have blurted out his news even if French and Russian spies had been in the room with us. And so he did, promptly and without ceremony.
‘I’ve been promoted!’
I blinked. ‘What?’
Out of all the possibilities, this was not what I had expected. Not that I didn’t think Captain Carter a very capable officer - on the contrary. But why now? Why here? After all, the English countryside around Christmas does not offer very many opportunities for rapid military advancement. Unless…
‘I got a letter from General Graham this morning, telling me how pleased he was with my performance during the strike in Newcastle. So they’re making me a major-’
‘Oh, Captain - I mean, Major! That’s wonderful!’
‘-if I take the mission to Uruguay.’
The broad smile that had been about to spread over my face decided it preferred to be thin and went on a strict diet instead.
‘What?’
The captain beamed. ‘They’re making me a major!’
‘I heard that. What was that about Uruguay? For that matter, what is Uruguay?’
‘Oh, it’s a country down in South America that recently declared its independence. The leaders of the independence movement seem to have a little disagreement.’
‘What kind of disagreement?’
‘One tried to assassinate the other.’[11]
