Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,23

the question carefully for a moment. ‘No,’ I said, finally, shaking my head. ‘I think I would end up getting thrown in prison and landing myself in all sorts of troubles I hadn’t counted on.’

*~*~**~*~*

My friends and I continued to sit long after that on the little bench under the oak and discussed politics, fashion, and the folly of men. But I had to admit that once the soothing effects of the wondrous solid chocolate waned, Mr Ambrose intruded more and more often on my thoughts.

Patsy kept shooting suspicious glances in my direction. Of our unofficial little secret society for women’s suffrage, she was certainly the most observant one, Eve being too hyper and Flora too shy to remark anything. Patsy noticed my altered behaviour: how I sometimes stared into the air without seeing anything, how I crossed my arms more often than usual as if about to confront an invisible enemy. I’m sure she would have said something if the other two hadn’t been there. So I made sure I was the first to leave, excusing myself on account of having to help my aunt with supper. If she wanted to find something out, Patsy could be determined as an Ascot race horse[10], and I didn’t want to get trampled underfoot.

I didn’t go home immediately, though. My beloved aunt wouldn’t appreciate any help in preparing a meal she considered far too simple for such a good family as hers. Instead, I went around the little clump of trees in Green Park to a small pond, and fed the ducks for a few minutes. They seemed to appreciate the pieces of dry bread I threw them very much, and it soothed my nerves. Although I felt miserable right now, it was good to know that at least I could make somebody else happy, even if it was only some silly, feathery little beast. The last piece of bread landed in the pond with a soft ‘plop’. I turned and started towards home.

The rest of the day flew by in a whirl of disjointed images. It seemed to take no time at all until I stared at the candle on my nightstand. Around the lone candle flame there was darkness. I was lying in my bed, listening to Ella’s steady breathing in the other bed across the room and staring into the flame so hard it almost hurt my eyes.

This is it, I thought. If I blow out this candle, the day will be over and there will be only one day left before Monday. One day before I have to face him or forget my dream of freedom.

What would I do?

More importantly: What would he do if I did the wrong thing?

He was no jolly fat bobby who would laugh the whole thing off. He might do anything, and a man with his position and power actually could do just about anything he wanted - to me and to my family. Getting me arrested for disturbing the King’s Peace, ruining my uncle’s business… the possibilities were chilling, and not unlikely to come to pass. I remembered every cold, hard line, of his face. Mr Ambrose definitely didn’t look like the kind of man who appreciated being made to look like a fool.

But this was my only chance! The only chance I would ever get to be free.

For the first time in my life I was afraid of the dark. But I screwed up all my courage, leant forward and blew out the candle.

*~*~**~*~*

The next day was even worse. In church, I didn’t hear above one word in ten of what the reverend was saying. I tried not to look at him too much because I knew of whom a tall black figure with a stern expression would remind me - only Reverend Dalton wasn’t half as good-looking as… he.

What did I do once I got home?

I honestly couldn’t say. Maybe I actually went through one of my aunt’s embroidering lessons for once. Ella was starting to look worried whenever she glanced my way. I would have liked to reassure her, tell her that everything was all right, but it would have been a more blatant lie than even I was capable of.

Evening came, and then the night. I lay in my bed again, staring at the candle and wondering whether to blow it out or not.

If I did, that was it. No more time to think or evade. It would be Monday, my first day at ‘work’. Or in prison,