Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,84

supposed to look. The tailor had really done a spiffing job.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped towards the door. Now for the first test. I opened the door, stepped out and did a little twirl.

‘Well? What do you say, gentlemen?’

All of them were looking at me with interested expressions. Well, all apart from Mr Ambrose, who didn’t have an expression on his stony face, and Karim, who had an expression but not one that I would like to describe.

Warren stepped forward and nodded slowly.

‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Mr Linton, you know what you’re doing. You look almost like a genuine girl.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Almost?’

‘Well, you know…’ he waved a hand in the air. ‘When one knows the truth one isn’t as easily fooled as everybody else. One just sees those little signs that indicate something is not quite right about you.’

‘You can say that again.’

That nice comment came from Mr Ambrose. ‘Now, can we get on with this?’

We did get on. Or rather out, of the building to be exact. Then, to our employer’s severe displeasure, we got into another cab and drove away. Our first stop was the Brown’s Hotel in Albermarle Street. When the cabbie stopped his horses, I got out but held up my hand when Mr Ambrose moved to follow me.

‘No. I’ll go in alone.’

‘What? Do you intend to catch Simmons all on your own?’

‘No, of course not. I’m just going to inquire if he’s here.’

‘And they’re going to tell you just like that, are they?’

‘Yes, actually they are.’ I winked at him. ‘Could you hand me my sack of onions please?’

He didn’t. Instead he said: ‘You can’t go in there alone. It’s much too risky.’

‘Risky?’ Did he actually sound worried? Worried for me?

‘I mean,’ he added hurriedly, ‘if Simmons should hear your questions and decide to flee before we can catch him.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. My onions, please?’

He hesitated a moment - then handed me the sack of onions, looking as though he had just bitten into one.

Wordlessly, I turned and entered Brown’s Hotel.

*~*~**~*~*

Ten minutes later I was out again and climbed into the cab.

‘He’s not here,’ I proclaimed. ‘Let’s go try the next one.’

‘How do you know?’ demanded Mr Ambrose. Yet this was a demand I was not very disposed to comply with.

‘You mean you can’t guess, Sir?’ I purred, smiling at him. ‘Surely you are more intelligent than an insignificant little girl.’

The others laughed, thinking I had made a joke. Then they saw Mr Ambrose’s expression and stopped laughing.

Soon we stopped at another hotel. I entered, and ten minutes later I left again.

‘Not here,’ I stated. ‘Let’s go on.’

‘How,’ Mr Ambrose asked, his voice dangerously low, ‘do you know?’

We stopped at another hotel, and another, and another. After eight failures, Mr Ambrose’s expression had turned from stony to steely. His hands were balled into fists.

I climbed into the coach again, just returned from my latest excursion.

‘He’s not here either,’ I said. ‘Let’s try the next one.’

‘How,’ Mr Ambrose inquired, putting emphasis on each word, ‘do-you-know?’

I smiled.

‘Oh, it’s just my female intuition.’

*~*~**~*~*

Stepping into the foyer of the Elderberry Hotel, I concealed myself behind one of the columns near the entrance, took the onion I had brought with me out of my pocket and cracked it in half. The strong smell immediately bit into my nose and brought tears to my eyes. Only with difficulty did I keep from sneezing.

It took a while for my eyes to become significantly wet. Two or three times I checked in the large mirror on the wall. Did I look distressed enough yet? No, not quite. I needed to be really distraught. Overwhelmed. Terrified.

When I was finally satisfied with my appearance, I let the onion drop and kicked it into the nearest corner. With an audible sob I staggered out from behind the column near the entrance as if I had just now come in.

It wasn’t easy to stumble and stagger like a real damsel in distress on my way to reception. This rather silly behaviour was somewhat annoying. But I did a great job, if I do say so myself. By the time I had reached reception and clutched the counter in an apparently desperate effort to keep myself upright, the man at reception had noticed me. Oh yes, most definitely he had noticed me.

‘Um… Miss… Are you unwell?’

In response, I gave him a pretty impressive heartbroken wail and tottered precariously.

‘Err…’

The receptionist was desperately trying to find a spot where he