My frown deepened into a scowl. ‘The men didn’t run. They fought.’
‘Because that’s what they’re paid to do! You’re paid to stay alive! To stay safe!’
‘I’m no coward!’ I growled. ‘I’m as good as any man! And the little piggies needed me!’
‘Excuse me… the what? What pigs?’
I rolled my eyes. He was incapable of grasping the simplest, most logical concepts. He didn’t even understand dancing yellow pigs. Typical man!
But for some reason, leaning against this annoying man also felt comforting. Somehow, I had slipped sideways, and my head had come to rest against his chest. It felt firm, and oh so warm. But that couldn’t be, could it? It was Mr Ambrose. Mr Ambrose was as cold as ice. Surely he would feel icy and hard, not so warm and reassuring.
‘Do you think the little piggies will be all right?’ I murmured, my eyes drifting closed. I felt very drowsy all of a sudden, and so comfortable…
‘I’m sure they will,’ he whispered reassuringly, his hand squeezing my shoulder. ‘I’m sure they will.’
The last thing I felt before darkness swallowed me up was a hand on my cheek, stroking gently.
Hallucination Manicure
‘Mr Linton.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Mr Linton, wake up. We have to go inside.’
‘Why?’ I mumbled, unwilling to open my eyes.
‘Because… Well, because I say so!’
I chuckled. I knew that voice. Cold. Commanding.
‘Not good enough,’ I murmured.
‘You are still in my employ, Mr Linton. You have to do what I say.’
‘Not after hours, Sir.’ A yawn escaped me. Talking was tiring business. Maybe I should just go back to sleep. I was lying on something so comfortable…
The comfortable thing shifted and grabbed me.
‘If you don't get up, Mr Linton, I’m going to carry you. Either way, you will get out of this chaise.’
Oh. Mr Ambrose. It was Mr Ambrose I was lying on. How had that happened? I was sure he hadn’t volunteered to be my personal sofa.
‘Did you hear me, Mr Linton? I will drag you out of here, whether you want to or not.’
For a moment I considered letting him do it. Truth be told, I felt too warm and fuzzy to think about walking. Being carried might actually be nice. However, the moment that thought of weakness popped into my head, the vigilant feminist inside me reasserted herself. I might utilize men as a couch, I might even allow them to pay me wages. But the day I allowed a man to carry me in his arms because I felt too unsteady on my poor little feminine feet would be the day I publicly confessed to being a chimpanzee.
Never.
Ever.
Blindly I groped around, grabbing Mr Ambrose and pushing myself into a sitting position.
‘Be careful with my coat, Mr Linton! It’s only ten years old and-’
‘…still in mint condition.’ I nodded. ‘Yes, I know. You’ve told me before. I’m not stupid, you know.’
‘Maybe not. But you are drunk.’
‘Drunk? Me? Of course I’m not drunk!’ Outraged, I staggered out of the chaise. How dare he suggest such a thing? I was stone-cold sober! And I had plenty of witnesses to the fact. Grasping the carriage wheel to support me, I pointed with my free hand at the yellow piggy sitting beside the driver. ‘Ask him over there, if you don't believe me.’
‘Me?’ The driver looked taken aback. ‘Well, Sir, I could not hazard a guess as to-’
‘Not you! The Pig.’
‘Pig? What pig?’
The driver’s nervousness seemed to increase. What was the matter with him? A yellow pig wasn’t something you could miss easily, was it?
‘Forget it, Godwin.’ Mr Ambrose appeared beside me. With a jerk of his head, he indicated to the driver and the yellow piggy that they should leave. ‘Take the chaise away and care for the horse.’
He was obviously bent on ignoring my logical arguments! So typically male!
‘Yes, Sir, only…’ the driver hesitated. ‘What about the other men, Sir? I should go back and-’
‘Warren will have reached the tavern by now with all the reinforcements he could muster,’ Mr Ambrose cut him off. ‘Do as you’re told. I and Mr Linton will go inside now.’
‘Yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir.’
Climbing from the box, the driver and the yellow piggy started doing Mr Ambrose’s bidding, leading the horse and carriage away. The power of this man was unbelievable! Even little yellow animals were under his power, even though I was sure they weren’t on his payroll!
‘Come along.’ Mr Ambrose strode ahead, gesturing for me to follow with a flick of his fingers. Taking a cautious step forward I lifted my head - and my eyes widened in shock. Before me stood the vast, gaunt façade of Empire House. The chaise had deposited us in Leadenhall Street, right in front of Mr Ambrose’s business headquarters. Like the bow of a gargantuan wreck in the dark depth of the ocean, the two-columned portico loomed up in front of me, white and ghostly. Ornate gas lanterns were spread out all along the street, throwing their yellowish light across the empty street. The whole scene looked even colder now than it had in daylight.
What were we doing here? Why wasn’t I at my own home? I was sure I had one of those, tucked away somewhere in London.
My eyes flicked to Mr Ambrose. Honestly, surprisingly enough, he had not strode ahead, ignoring me - instead, he was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, tapping his foot on their foot in impatience.
I smiled. His foot on their foot. That sounded funny.
Leisurely, I strolled towards him. With fuzzy curiosity, I gestured up at the towering monument of mammon above me.
‘Why here?’ I asked, directing my unsteady smile at Mr Ambrose. ‘I don't live here. Not that I’m aware of, anyway,’ I added, as an afterthought. Nothing seemed to be too sure, lately. ‘Do I?’
Mr Ambrose’s face was hidden in shadow, his voice as terse as ever.
‘No, you don't. But I thought I would bring you here first and give you the chance to clean up. Unless you want to go home in blood-spattered clothes, that is.’
‘What?’
He gestured, and I looked down at myself. Even in the pale light of the gas lamps, it was undeniable that the upper part of my uncle’s old tailcoat had distinct signs of red on it. If they weren’t blood spatters, they were the experiment of a deranged tomato-enthusiast.