Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,348

to speak.

‘Excuse me, Messieurs?’

Our hands jumped apart as if hit with a horsewhip. We stared up at the waiter, who had walked up to our table without either of us noticing. He bowed and flourished a second set of menus. ‘Would you like dessert, now, Messieurs?’

*~*~**~*~*

We ate our dessert in silence. That is, I ate my dessert in silence, while Mr Ambrose chewed another piece of baguette in silence, following the waiter through the room with a venomous, icy glare.

I was glad for his lack of loquaciousness, for once. I had enough to think about - most of all about Mr Ambrose’s words. He had said he should get rid of me. And yet… and yet… he hadn’t looked at me as if he wished to get rid of me. Quite the contrary, in fact.

‘What if it’s not up to you, Mr Linton? What if I don’t want to let you go?’

I shivered. What if he didn’t plan to sack me? What if he was planning on doing something even worse? Exposing my disguise, maybe? But no. That would also expose himself. But what then? I could not for the life of me decipher his dark, intense looks or sparse words.

My dessert was soon gone. There was plenty of baguette in the bread basket still, but Mr Ambrose didn’t seem in the mood to continue eating, even if it was for free. That fact alone was very worrying. He simply sat there in brooding silence, a brooding silence that was about three times as brooding as his usual brooding silences. Again, I couldn’t suppress a shiver. I thought I had managed to prove myself to him, at least to some extent. To prove that I could be a valuable and reliable asset in spite or even because of my femininity. But the way he was staring at the table, avoiding my eyes… He looked like he had all those times when he had contemplated getting rid of me. What was wrong?

‘Is… is everything all right, Sir?’ I asked.

He nodded.

‘You did get all of it? The file, I mean? Is there something missing?’

‘What?’ He looked up, seeming to need a moment to realize what I had asked. ‘No, no. The file is complete. Mr Linton?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you hurt at all? I didn’t get a chance to ask before. I should have made sure, after we got away from the soldiers. Are you all right?’

Why did he want to know? Was he worried I had gotten blood on the fake uniform he had paid for?

‘No, Sir. I’m perfectly all right.’

‘Hm.’

He lowered his eyes, and started glaring at the table again. It was a wonder that the piece of furniture hadn’t fled from him yet.

Soon after, the waiter appeared with our bill, which didn’t exactly improve Mr Ambrose’s mood. He paid, but not without giving me a look twice as icy as that he had directed at the poor table. I really hoped my wages would be high enough to cover this bill, otherwise I would be in big trouble.

The waiter bowed and left. For a moment I considered asking Mr Ambrose what was the matter. I hesitated briefly, looking at his chiselled granite face. I hesitated for an instant too long. Pushing back his chair, he rose.

‘I’m tired, Mr Linton. I’m going back to my cabin. You should, too. When we arrive in England, we still have a long coach journey ahead of us.’ His dark eyes met mine, holding them for a moment. ‘And we’ll have a lot to discuss.’

Before I could say anything, he was gone. I shrugged. It wasn’t as if this was the last chance we would ever get to talk. I’d have to get to the bottom of what was the matter with him sooner or later. But it could just as well be later as sooner.

Besides, I had to admit, a few more hours of rest would probably do me good. My muscles still ached from pushing the draisine up those hills, and all I wanted to do was lie down and relax.

When I stepped out onto the deck, Mr Ambrose was nowhere to be seen. Strange. Why was he in such a hurry to disappear? Was he avoiding me? But why would he do that?

The question kept nagging at me, even when I had entered my cabin and lain down. No matter how much I tossed from side to side, or how many blankets I pulled over myself, I couldn’t find sleep. The sun started to