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‘Linton?’ The voice that cut in was chillingly familiar. I looked up to see Lord Dalgliesh lean out from between the row of guests to study me. ‘Any relation to Miss Lillian Linton?’
From one moment to the next, my urge to laugh evaporated.
‘Yes,’ I answered hesitantly. ‘I am her brother.’
‘Her brother….?’ His Lordship stroked his chin, studying me through narrowed eyes. ‘Hm…most interesting. Most interesting indeed.’
‘Who is this Miss Linton we’re talking about?’ one of the other guests asked.
‘Oh, a most charming young lady,’ Lady Samantha answered before I could even open my mouth. ‘As Mr Linton said, she’s the sister of my son’s secretary, and a smarter, sweeter girl you couldn’t wish to meet.’ Glancing around the table, she frowned. ‘I wonder where she is. I’ve been so preoccupied I only just realised she isn’t at the table.’
‘What - Miss Linton is a guest here? At Battlewood Hall?’ Now Lord Dalgliesh’s eyes seemed to be positively gleaming. They flicked from Mr Ambrose to me, then back to Mr Ambrose, filled with a malicious understanding I didn’t like. Not at all. ‘How fascinating. I am very much looking forward to renewing our acquaintance.’
Ruffling my Feathers
That night, someone broke into my room to kill me. Luckily, I wasn’t at home. I was slumbering peacefully about three dozen yards away in the room of Mr Victor Linton, my door firmly locked and a grouchy, bearded bodyguard standing guard in front of my male alter-ego’s door.
‘Dear me…’ Whistling, I reached down and picked up a couple of loose feathers. ‘Either someone wants me dead, or someone in this place really hates down pillows.’
‘Neither, Mr Linton.’ Picking up one of the pillows, Mr Ambrose examined it with icy eyes. ‘If someone wanted you dead, there would be much easier ways to accomplish it than breaking into your room at night. The first time you - or in this case, your female alter ego - set a foot outside, a marksman could take you out with his rifle. Swift. Easy. No risk of discovery.’ He straightened, pinning me with his gaze. ‘This wasn’t an attempt at murder. They wanted to abduct you. This-’ he gestured at the slashed covers and cushions ‘-is merely a warning.’
‘Abduct?’ I blinked. ‘But why would anybody want to abduct me? I haven’t got a penny! And as for my uncle Bufford, the only thing he would give a kidnapper is a bill for the inconvenience. Why would anyone-’
It was only then that I noticed the intense expression in Mr Ambrose’s eyes. It wasn’t the gaze of an employer looking at his subordinate. He was devouring me with his gaze, raking it over me from top to bottom, assuring himself that I was still there, still alive, still in one piece. If I didn’t know better I would almost have said it was the gaze of a lover. The gaze of someone who cared.
Oh.
He seemed to read the dawning understanding in my eyes.
‘Yes, Mr Linton. Exactly.’
Oh. Oh my goodness…
Feeling my ears heat, I glanced away.
‘So…it was Dalgliesh?’
‘Who else?’
‘What do we do?’
‘We? Nothing.’
‘But-’
‘I will do a great many things, Mr Linton. But as for you - your primary task will be to keep yourself safe.’ Marching to the wardrobe in the corner, Mr Ambrose tore open the doors and began pulling out dress after dress after dress. Then he started opening drawers and pulling out ladies’ underwear.
‘Mr Ambrose!’ I started forward. ‘I don’t know what your idea of safety is, but I doubt those will be of any great help as body armour!’
Unperturbed, he continued rummaging through my underwear. Then, when he had pulled out everything he could find, he turned, and unloaded it onto Karim.
‘Sahib?’
‘Pack these.’
‘Sahib! I…I cannot…I could not possibly…’
Mr Ambrose met the bodyguard’s eyes, and the protests ceased instantly.
