Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,163

time is upon us to flee, I shall change the curtains in the window of my room.’

He pointed up to a small rectangular window in his parents’ house that pointed towards their back garden. ‘You see that now they are white? I shall change them to red curtains when the time for our elopement has arrived.’

‘Oh Edmund! You are so clever!’

‘Well… actually I got the idea from a book…’

‘Clever and well-read! My dream man!’

‘Am I really?’

‘Of course you are! Let me show you. Come closer, my love.’

‘Oh, my love! Only if you do, too.’

After that, the conversation was pretty much over. I turned discreetly away and, listening to the noises coming from the fence, did my best not to vomit into the rosebushes. It wasn’t easy. This was my sister we were talking of, after all.

Well, those were the burdens you had to carry when you were trying to save your sister from disgrace. Once this was over, I would really deserve a medal for my efforts.

Not that I had actually discovered a way to save her yet. And this problem had now abruptly become even more urgent than before. I had no idea how much time was still left before our piano-tuning pseudo-Casanova carried my sister off to parts unknown. The thought sickened me. Despite her brave speech from earlier, I knew she would be devastated to disappoint my aunt. She wasn’t like me, she was considerate of other people’s feelings. Some people were mad like that.

But what could I do? What could anyone do to prevent this disastrous turn of events? There didn’t seem to be anything that could make my aunt dislike Wilkins, and as for scaring him off in some way, I hardly believed it would be possible. His infatuations with Maria, Anne and even Patsy seemed to have been just passing fancies, but he appeared pretty stuck on Ella.

The question was now - how to unstick him in time. Was that even a verb, unstick? I would have to look that up in a dictionary. After I had saved my sister’s honour and reputation, of course.

I remained quite a while behind the bushes while Ella and Edmund exchanged sweet nothings at the fence. Fortunately, I had brought a book with me: one of my favourites, a historical retelling of the story of Jeanne d’Arc, the woman who had almost single-handedly thrown the English out of France during the Hundred Years' War. I did my best to plunge myself into the narrative. I admired Jeanne d'Arc deeply and felt a deep spiritual connection to her - not because I was secretly French, but because I, too, often felt the urge to chase after English men with a sharp sword in my hand. If I were Jeanne d’Arc and had a sword of my own, I wouldn’t have any problems with disposing of Wilkins!

Finally, the two lovebirds at the fence seemed to remember that there was such a thing as sleep, which was usually accomplished at nighttime, and parted from one another with many apologies and promises to see each other again soon. I waited until Ella had passed my hiding place, shut the book upon my heroine’s story with a regretful sigh, and followed Ella into the house. When I entered our bedroom upstairs, Ella had already curled into a tight ball under her blankets.

I lay down in my own bed and recapitulated my to-do list for tomorrow:

- bring back two books to the lending library

- refine plans to foil the masculine plot to undermine women’s suffrage

- save Ella from eternal shame and dishonour

I frowned. Hadn’t I forgotten something? Something I had to do tomorrow?

Then the memory dropped back into my mind like a red-hot piece of coal. Of course. Tomorrow was Monday. And on Monday I had to go back to the office. To Mr Ambrose.

Other memories returned. Mr Ambrose entering the ballroom, Mr Ambrose whirling me around and around on the dance floor with the grace and precision of a clockwork dancing master, strong and contained. Mr Ambrose staring at Miss Hamilton with an intensity with which he had never looked at me…

Wait just a second! Where had that thought come from? Why would you want Mr Ambrose to look at you? You want him to employ you, and that’s it! Looking at you has nothing to do with it!

Only, maybe it had. If he couldn’t even bring himself to look at me, how could he bring himself to accept me as a female