What to Do with Pink?
And his name? Tell me, who is he?
For just a moment, Ella’s question hung in the air between us like a big, wet elephant on a washing line.
‘Please, don”t ask,’ I blurted out. ‘I, um… promised him to tell nobody. Yes, I promised!’
This was such a lousy excuse that no little sister in England would have accepted it. Other little sisters would have dug and bored and drilled until they had uncovered every last bit of the truth. But all those little sisters probably didn’t have a secret lover.
Moisture sparkled in Ella’s eyes, and the words ‘just like me and Edmund’ practically blinked on her forehead for all the world to see.
‘Of course.’ Nodding eagerly, she enfolding me in her arms. ‘I understand. Of course you have to keep your love’s secret. I understand more than you can ever know.’
Somehow I doubted that. I knew perfectly well why she was feeling so deeply for my supposed plight, and it didn’t have anything to do with her general compassionate nature but rather, I suspected, with a certain young man who would soon be waiting for her at the garden fence.
‘I really hope you two will find a way to be together,’ she breathed into my ear, her voice sounding tearful.
Well I sure as hell didn’t. I had to work hard to keep myself from laughing at the idea of my marrying Mr Rikkard Ambrose. It would perhaps make an interesting tragedy for the theatre, with all the participants ending up strangled within the first five minutes, but in reality? No, thank you!
However, I didn’t think that was what Ella wanted to hear.
‘I’m sure we will. I think he’s getting really attached to me, and it’s quite likely that we will spend more time together in the future.’ That last part at least was true. ‘But enough of my problems,’ I continued, holding Ella away from me with both hands. ‘Let us talk about you and the man prowling around you. What about Sir Philip?’
Ella’s face paled. ‘He was here earlier today,’ she muttered.
‘To visit you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he bring flowers?’
‘Quite a lot of them, yes.’
‘And what do you think of him?’
‘He… is a very pleasant gentleman,’ Ella replied, doing her best to sound enthusiastic and failing miserably.
‘That is wonderful! Simply wonderful!’
I was testing my newfound acting skills. Of course I knew Ella’s interests lay in another direction, but I couldn’t tell her that I had overheard her and Edmund pledging their eternal, epic and everlasting love. She would vaporise from embarrassment. And I wouldn’t get another chance to eavesdrop on her and her lover, which was essential both for my plans of furthering the happiness of my little sister and as my favourite evening entertainment.
‘So you want to marry him, do you?’ I asked with a fake, bright smile.
What little colour had remained in Ella’s cheeks vanished. ‘Um… maybe not as such.’
‘Why not?’ I pressed. ‘If he likes you and you like him, why wait?’
‘Well, we’re both so young. Too young, I think, to really think of marriage.’
‘There are girls who get married at fifteen. That is two years younger than you.’
‘True, but still… there’s no need to rush things and… and I…’
She was desperately groping around for another explanation. I had to say I was impressed with her. Of course her flimsy little lies wouldn’t even fool a cocker spaniel with severe concussion, but I was amazed that she even made the attempt. For Ella to lie to anybody, let alone me, was an impressive achievement. She really had to like this fellow Edmund.
*~*~**~*~*
The confirmation of this very theory I received not three hours later. After my nap and an oh-so-delicious meal of porridge and cold potatoes, which I consumed with more relish than usual, I took up my usual post behind the bushes in the garden and waited for the two lovebirds to arrive. Just in case, I had taken the masterpiece of my favourite author with me: Mary Astell’s A Serious Proposal to the Ladies for the Advancement of their True and Greatest Interest, by a Lover of Her Sex.
Hey, I said she’s a great author. I didn’t say she was great at coming up with snappy titles. Secretly, I thought that How to Squash Chauvinists would have been a much better title, since that was what this fabulous book was all about - but I never dared to voice that opinion. If I had a heroine, Mary Astell was it. She had lived over a hundred years ago and already tried to grind the oppressive patriarchy of Great Britain into dust.
Today though, I didn’t get any new tips on man-to-dust-grinding. I had just opened my battered copy of A Serious Proposal to the Ladies when the lovebirds made their appearance. One fluttered in from the direction of the neighbours’ house, and it was not long after that Ella flew out of the back door and towards the fence.
‘Oh Edmund!’
‘Oh Ella!’
They both clutched the fence in their hands. Their eyes were drawn to the other’s as if by some magnetic force.
‘My love,’ Ella breathed, moisture in her eyes - and she didn’t need any onions for it. ‘How I have longed to see you again.’
‘And I you, my love. I have longed to see you again even more than you have longed to see me! Your sweet voice is to my ears as honey to my tongue.’
‘Impossible!’
‘I assure you, it is. The cadence of your speech…’
‘No, no, I don’t mean the bit about the honey! I mean the bit about you longing for me more than I longed for you! I have definitely longed more for you than you for me. How could I not? You are my pillar of strength in the midst of my woe, Edmund. My sole reason to continue living.’
That was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t it? Nice walks in the park, reading, fighting for women’s rights… I could come up with half a dozen good reasons to continue living off the top of my head. And they most certainly were better reasons than some stupid man!
‘I assure you, my dearest Ella, that I have longed for you more than you for me. That is the only way it could be. For who am I? Nobody but a simple merchant’s son. You are the light of my life, queen of my heart, infinitely more important than me.’
You got that right mister.Satisfied, I nodded to myself. At least the fellow knew his place.
Apparently though, Ella didn’t. ‘You are not a nobody!’ she protested. ‘And I’m not more important than you!’
What the… of course you are!Through a gap in the foliage, I shot a glare at my little sister. She should squash this fellow until he was her willing slave, not try to build his self-esteem! Men’s heads were big enough already.
Ella seemed to think otherwise. ‘You are everything to me, Edmund,’ she declared. ‘Everything!’
‘As are you to me.’
‘Oh, Edmund.’
‘Oh, Ella, my love.’
For a few more minutes they continued their protestations of love and debate about who had missed whom more in the unimaginably long twenty-two hours or so that they had been separated. Finally though, they seemed to run out of sweet compliments and flowery similes for the passionate strength of their love.
The first pause ensued, and then, in a voice as tense as could be, Edmund asked:
‘How do things stand, my love? What of Sir Philip?’
Ella took a moment to answer. Peeking through the bushes, I saw that she was clutching the fence for support.
‘He came to visit me today,’ she whispered.
Edmund’s eyes slid shut, and he let himself fall against the fence. ‘Oh fearful harbinger of doom!’ he groaned.
‘He brought me flowers.’
‘What agony!’
‘They were pink roses.’
‘This is unbearable! Please, God, strike me down with a bolt of lightning!’
I glanced up towards the night sky. It didn’t look like God was in the mood to oblige Edmund. I wished he would. Then at least the moaning and groaning would stop.
‘And he said I was more beautiful than any flower he had ever brought me.’
‘Enough! Enough!’ With another groan, Edmund slid down the fence until he was on his knees in the grass. ‘Have mercy on me!’
‘He also said I was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes upon,’ Ella continued, blushing. ‘I asked him how it was he had met that few girls, and he laughed.’
‘Please! I beg of you, stop! You are killing me! Stop!’
‘Dearest Edmund!’ For the first time, Ella seemed to realize that he was on the ground, unable to stand. Her face filled with horror, and she raised a hand to her mouth. ‘What are you saying? I would never dream of hurting you!’
Personally, I thought she had done a splendid job of ripping his heart into tiny little pieces, but if I cheered her on, that would probably alert them to my presence. So I kept quiet and just pulled a branch aside to see better.
‘And yet you are,’ Edmund moaned. ‘You are hurting me more than anyone has ever hurt me in my life! The way you speak of Sir Philip showering you with gifts and compliments… I cannot bear it!’
‘But my love, you wished me to tell you everything! You expressly demanded it.’
‘I know, I know. And yet it tortures me to hear it. Especially to hear the tone in which you speak. You sound as if his attentions are very welcome to you. Oh, I see how it is. Your new suitor brings with him a great name and honourable rank, and I shall soon be forgotten. Winning your love has only been a dream. Oh Eros,[30] why do you torture me so?’
‘A dream?’ Not caring if her dress got dirty, Ella dropped to her knees in the muddy grass to be at eye level with Edmund. My, my, she really had to love him. I remembered very well the talking-to I had received from my aunt the last time I had gotten my dress dirty.
‘Edmund, if my love for you is a dream, then the sun is a phantom and the moon an illusion. My love for you is just as indestructible and everlasting as those two giants of the sky. Yet it is by no means as distant. It is right here.’
With a tender gesture she touched herself right above her heart.
‘It is?’ Edmund whispered. ‘It truly is?’
Oh, come on already! She’s already told you it is, hasn”t she?
Honestly, I was a bit frustrated with the fellow. She had told him she loved him about three dozen times now, and he still didn’t seem to have gotten the message. You would have thought once would be enough. How dense could he be?
‘I swear on everything that is holy,’ Ella responded with fervour. ‘I love you.’
‘But the way you spoke of Sir Phillip…’
‘I may have been flattered, Edmund, I do not deny it.’ Shamefully, she let her eyes sink to the ground. ‘It is the first time in my life that I have been noticed by such a great and powerful man, and the strange feeling might for a moment have gone to my head. But that is all it is, Edmund. I swear. I love you, now and forever.’
Edmund wet his lips. He opened his mouth, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse:
‘But what then will you say when this great and powerful man asks you to become his wife?’
Ella rocked back on her heels. The question had hit her like a kick in the stomach.
I, for my part, was feeling an urge to kick Edmund in the stomach.
‘Edmund, I…’ Her words trailed off into nothingness. She seemed not capable of forming a response.
‘This is what it all comes down to,’ Edmund persisted, his eyes burning with passion - or maybe hay fever. I wasn’t exactly an expert in the different nuances of burning eyes. ‘Last time we could wait and hope. Last time we could imagine that it was only a passing fancy on his part, hope that Wilkins would be gone soon and we would be safe. But now? I tell you, my love, my darling, he intends to marry you. Sooner or later, he will ask you. The question that remains now is: what will be your answer?’
‘Please, Edmund, don”t!’
‘Will you answer yes?’
‘I… I…’
‘I see reluctance in your eyes. I see tears streaming down your face. It is enough. I see, you do not wish to have him. Will you do the only other thing possible, then? Will you save our love? Will you deny him?’
Burying her face in her hands, Ella gave an anguished wail. Tears spilled right and left, and she still wasn’t using any onions. Really impressive. This ‘love’-thingy really had to be something if it could make people act this crazy.
‘My aunt spoke of the wedding as a certain thing,’ Ella whispered through her fingers. ‘She told me how great a match it would be for me and how happy she was for me, knowing that I would be provided for, and happy, and safe for the rest of my life.’
Slowly, her hands fell from her face, which was stained with salty moisture.
‘Tell me, Edmund, how could I disappoint her hopes? How could I be that ungrateful a child?’
Hm… maybe by taking a leaf out of the book of your favourite sister?
But I knew that this solution wouldn’t appeal to Ella. She and I lived in different worlds and by different rules, with her rules being pretty ridiculous and problematic. Edmund seemed to realize the same thing at this very moment.
‘Ella… you don”t mean… you don”t mean you’re going to say yes?’
Ella didn’t reply anything, just sprang to her feet.
‘Goodbye, my love,’ she whispered, and with another sob she ran off, back towards the house.
Bugger!
*~*~**~*~*
I pretended not to notice Ella crying herself to sleep. But I noticed. Oh yes, I noticed all right. Not even a bedtime chapter of Mary Astell could comfort me that night.
My dreams were full of evil lords with oversized ears trying to snatch my little sister away from me and choke her under a mountain of flowers. For the umpteenth time I regretted that I, as a girl, didn’t have the same rights as a man. If I had, I would have learned how to handle a weapon long ago, and then I could just go to Wilkins and challenge him to a duel.
One bullet right between the eyes. That would do the trick!
As things stood, though, the only thing I could do was get to work. Despite my worry for my sister and my determination to figure something out to help her, I had to admit I was also curious as to whether Simmons” night in the cellar had yielded any results.
Oh yes, you are. And you’re even more curious whether one of these results is Simmons’ ice-cold, mutilated corpse, aren’t you?
I shook my head. Mr Ambrose would never do something like that!
Well… probably.
Before I left, I sneaked over to Ella’s bedside and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks as best I could without waking her. It would do no good for my aunt to see them. Although she was probably delusional enough to imagine them to be tears of joy, I was sure Ella had rather not let them be seen. Finished with my demoisturization, I stroked my little sister’s cheek one final time affectionately and then hurried down the stairs and out the back. It was time to get going, or Mr Ambrose would skin me alive!
At Empire House, Sallow-face let me pass upstairs without comment. I couldn’t suppress a tiny, triumphant smile.
Yay! He had accepted me. I only hoped Mr Ambrose had done the same and not decided to change his mind.
Exchanging friendly nods, I passed Mr Stone in the upper hallway and entered my office. I had hardly sat down at my desk when, with a little plink, a message plopped out of the pneumatic tube.
Oh dear… Here we go.
Mr Linton,
I have been waiting for you for hours. Where have you been? I do not tolerate tardiness, as I believe I have told you before.
Rikkard Ambrose.
What the heck…? Late? I could have sworn that I arrived on the dot!
Rising from my chair along with my temper, I looked around the room - but Mr Ambrose was too stingy to even buy a clock for his secretary’s office, and I still didn’t have a watch. So I marched to the door and flung it open.
‘Excuse me, Mr Stone, what time is it?’
A bit startled, he looked up from his papers and, being confronted with an angry fury in baggy striped trousers, hurriedly fished his watch out of his pocket. ‘Eight o”clock exactly, Mr Linton. Um… Why?’
‘Nothing! Thanks.’
‘Oh, Mr Linton, wait!’ He held out a hand with a couple of envelopes. ‘I almost forgot to give you these. The correspondence of the day.’
‘Thanks again.’
Grabbing the letters out of his hand, I marched back to my desk like the wrathful angel of justice, and snatched up pen and paper to scribble furiously:
My dear and most beloved Master,
It is exactly eight o”clock, the time I usually arrive at your palatial office, which, by the way, doesn’t even have clocks in its rooms
Yours ever
Miss Lilly Linton
The reply wasn’t long in coming.
Mr Linton,
Yes, it is eight o”clock. You may remember our discussion from the day before? The discussion during which you gained the concession from me to be treated like a full employee? You are facing the consequences of that concession. Yesterday, I gave you the afternoon off to recuperate. When I give my employees time off, I expect them to put in longer hours at some later date. I was expecting you at five a.m. this morning.
Rikkard Ambrose
Was he kidding?
A brief image of his stony face flashed in front of my inner eye. No. Of course he wasn’t. My answer was short and to the point.
Dearest Mr Ambrose,
How the bloody hell was I supposed to know?
Yours Sincerely
Miss Lilly Linton
There! That would show him!
I had already shoved the message into the tube when I remembered that now I had a key to his room. I could just have stood up, gone to him and told him to his stony face!
Or could I? If I were face to face with the tyrant, I might very well use the phrase ‘sincerely up yours’ instead of ‘yours sincerely’. Probably not good for my career prospects. Also I had to admit… this way of communicating was kind of fun.
I shoved the message into the tube. His answer popped onto my desk only a minute later.
Mr Linton,
Mind your language. I will let your tardiness pass once, since you were not familiar with my office policy. Do not let it happen again.
Rikkard Ambrose
I had an idea - a rather delicious one, and I caught myself grinning as I wrote the reply.
Dear Mr Ambrose,
So… were you up in your office at five a.m. this morning, waiting for me?
Yours truly
Miss Lilly Linton
The reply was as quick as it was short.
Mr Linton,
Yes, I was. Bring me file S37VI288. The key to the safe is under the door.
Rikkard Ambrose.
Hehad been waiting for me! For three hours!
Whistling, I skipped off to get the safe key, imagining a grouchy Mr Ambrose at five in the morning, sitting in the office and twiddling his thumbs with stony ferocity. The image held a great deal of appeal. I found the file in record time, shoved it under the door and went back to my desk to examine his correspondence of the day.
A few advertisement letters from some firm or other quickly landed in the bin, so did several charity requests. I very well remembered his reaction to my letting those pass the first time. Then I fished a familiar pink envelope out of the remaining pile.
What? Another one of those? Yes. The sender read, in curly feminine handwriting: Samantha Genevieve Ambrose. Just like last time. And there was the same coat of arms stamped on the envelope, a lion and a rose, with the rest of the crest, as I now noticed, filled out by stormy waves.
Whoever she was, you had to give the lady her due; she was persistent. But honestly, I wished she wouldn’t be. What should I do with her letter? Mr Ambrose had given the first one back unopened. I presumed that meant he wouldn’t want another. Was I supposed to throw it away? Or was he just returning the first letter unopened out of principle and would relent to whatever the lady was writing?
Somehow I didn’t think so. Mr Ambrose wasn’t the relenting kind. Especially if the message came in a pink, scented envelope.
Still, I couldn’t just destroy the letter. For all I knew, he might want this one, even though he hadn’t wanted the first. I hadn’t forgotten the crest on his watch, exactly like the one on the letter, and was reasonably sure by now that there was some deep connection between the letter-writer and Mr Ambrose.
But what kind of connection? Not knowing drove me insane! And it made it impossible to decide what to do with the cursed pink thing.
Well, what are you waiting for, Lilly? The problem of not knowing what’s in there can be solved easily enough!
Hesitantly, I reached for the envelope.
Should I? I had to admit, I was more than a little curious to read what was inside. Was it from a relative? Or… maybe from his wife?
I swallowed. Up until now I had just assumed he was single, but you never knew. Maybe he was a romantic soul and deeply in love with his wife and was just hiding it very, very, very, very, very well. Maybe… maybe the letters even had something to do with the mysterious stolen file! Oh, the suspense of not knowing was killing me! Literally!
Surely, opening the letter couldn’t really be wrong if it meant saving me from death by acute Nosystic curiositis?
I reached out for the letter opener - but my hand stopped in mid-air.
Mr Ambrose had taken me on. He had given me a job when many others wouldn’t. I was his secretary and should behave like it. A professional wouldn’t pry, and I intended to be a professional. That was the whole idea behind getting a job. Agonizingly slowly, my hand drew back from the letter opener.
Blast! A conscience can be such a nuisance, sometimes!
But the problem of what to do with the letter still remained.
Then I had an idea. I was a secretary, right? My job was filing things. And I still had the key to the safe.
Quickly I got up and searched the shelves until I found an empty file box. I put the letter inside and marched to the safe. Unlocking the safe-room, I entered and stowed the file box in the remotest, darkest corner I could find, where Mr Ambrose himself would hopefully never find it. Then, satisfied with a job well done, I left, closed the safe again and returned to my desk.
Two messages were already waiting for me.
The first read:
Mr Linton,
Where are my letters? I do not pay you to dawdle.
Rikkard Ambrose.
The second read:
Mr Linton,
Perhaps I was not clear enough regarding my intolerance towards dawdling. Where are my letters?
Rikkard Ambrose
Quickly, I looked through the rest of the letters. They all seemed to be strictly business-related, which was sure to be a balm for the soul of Mr Ambrose. No dealing with frightening pink personal letters today!
I scribbled a note, went over to the door, and shoved the letters under the door, together with the safe key and a note which read:
Dear Mr Ambrose,
Forgive my unforgivable dawdling. There were a lot of letters to sort through.
Yours always,
Miss Lilly Linton
It didn’t take him long to send a reply through the tube.
Mr Linton,
Please correct your address of me to coincide with the truth. I am not ‘dear’ to anyone, least of all, I am sure, to you. Also, it is my ink you are wasting by writing unnecessary words. A bottle of ink costs 3 pence apiece. Therefore, I order you to refrain from all endearments in the future.
Rikkard Ambrose
I cocked my head.
Oh, particularly grouchy this morning, are we? I wonder why…
I quickly scribbled a reply.
Dearest most honoured and beloved Mr Ambrose,
Courtesy hasn”t killed anybody yet. By the way, has Simmons given any information?
Your ink-wasting
Miss Lilly Linton
He couldn’t have been very absorbed in his letters yet because his reply didn’t take long.
Mr Linton,
Courtesy might not have killed anybody yet, but it has ruined quite a few people who didn’t realize how much money it costs. Mr Simmons has not yet divulged anything. I am displeased, to say the least. We will talk about this more later. Now bring me file 28V214. And be quick about it.
Rikkard Ambrose
For some reason a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.
Here we go again. Another normal day with Mr Ambrose.
Getting up from my desk, I made my way towards the shelves in a leisurely stroll.
I should have known better, I guess. I should have realized by now that no day with Mr Ambrose ever would turn out to be normal.