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And the door slammed shut.
I raised an eyebrow at Mr Ambrose. ‘Check to see if everything is secure? Right smack in the middle of the United Kingdom?’
‘I have my reasons.’ And I noticed that his hand hovered just over the place where he usually carried his gun.
Holy moly! What kind of family reunion is this going to be?
‘The estate,’ Mr Ambrose said, very slowly and precisely, as if he had to force every word out, ‘of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh is only a few miles away from that of my parents.’
Oh.
That piece of information would have been kind of nice to have earlier. Like, for instance, before I nagged him into coming here?
Too late now, Lillian. You dug your own cesspit, so you‘d better jump in.
Karim reappeared before the window. ‘Everything secure, Sahib. I have spoken to the fat man with the apron and secured accommodations for you and-’ he threw a look at me ‘-and your companion.’
‘You didn’t waste money on more than one room, did you?’
‘Certainly not, Sahib. They only have one free room in any case. The others, the fat man tells me, are full of winter supplies. They were not expecting guests.’
‘Then where will you sleep?’ I demanded. Sharing a bed with Mr Ambrose was one thing, but Karim and his beard was where I drew the line!
Karim straightened to his full height, puffing out his chest. ‘In the stables. I am strong and resilient and do not fear to suffer in Ambrose Sahib’s service.’
And he strutted away, very satisfied with himself for freezing his toes off and in the process saving his employer a few pence.
‘Come on.’ Gripping the door, Mr Ambrose pushed it open, letting snow swirl inside on a gust of cold wind. ‘Let’s go, Mr Linton.’
And, leaping down into the snow, he started toward the inn, his long legs eating up the distance fast. Grabbing my suitcase from the top of the carriage - of course, Karim had stowed away Mr Ambrose’s luggage and left mine to soak in the snow - I hurried after him.
Inside the inn, we were greeted by a collection of patrons frozen solid into statues, all staring at the giant Indian who was standing guard next to the door
, glaring at them as if any of them might draw a dagger at any moment and rush towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose. They didn’t seem to me to be very intent on doing any rushing - except maybe out of the room. But nobody dared to move. Ale dropped from half-raised mugs. Somewhere in the background, a tea kettle whistled in shrill protest.
Mr Ambrose let his gaze wander over the assembled crowd - then turned away without a word, facing the innkeeper.
‘One room. One night. No food.’
‘Ah, um…yes, Sir.’ The innkeeper fumbled with his apron. ‘Your man already explained your requirements.’
‘Adequate. Oh, and my employee here needs to use your facilities. If you would have a servant show him the way…’
‘Certainly, Sir! I’ll call Tom and-’
The innkeeper cut off as, suddenly, there was a movement in the small crowd of patrons. At the very back, an old man leant forward, frowning at Mr Ambrose - then suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he shot to his feet.
‘No! It can’t be! Master…Master Rikkard?’
Plans Gone Awry
‘Master Rikkard?’ The old man stepped towards us, staring. Karim made a threatening step forward, his hand on the pommel of his sabre, but Mr Ambrose held him back. His gaze was riveted to the old man as if looking at a ghost. His face twitched, breaking his usual cold mask. ‘Elsby?’
‘It is you, Master Rikkard!’
He started forward with arms outstretched as if to hug - yes, hug! - Mr Rikkard Ambrose, but then he realised that all eyes in the room were on him. His gaze flicked from the other patrons, over me and Karim, to Karim’s sabre, where they stayed for a long, long moment.
He froze.
