Read Page 157

‘I didn’t mean you,’ I clarified. ‘I was talking to Napoleon.’

Mr Ambrose turned his head slowly away from me again. He didn’t speak.Advertisement

‘Where to exactly, Sir?’ called the coachman from the box. It seemed Mr Ambrose hadn’t given him an exact address. I perked up. Surely, now he had to open that stubbornly silent mouth of his.

Wrong. He sat in the corner, staring silently out of the window, just as before.

‘Err… Sir? I ain’t got no idea where to go!’

Nothing but perfect silence came from the granite monument at the window.

Raising my hand, I knocked against the roof of the chaise.

‘Driver?’

He turned around to face me.

‘Yes, Sir?’

A strange feeling ran through me at having somebody else call me ‘Sir’ - the same hated respectful address I had been forced to give Mr Ambrose day after day, week after week. I felt a surge of power rush through me at hearing the word.

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‘Do you know St James’s Square?’ I yelled over the rushing wind.

‘Yes!’

‘Take us there. I can find my way from there.’

‘Yes, Sir!’

He turned towards the street again, and I settled back into the seat, a contented smile on my face. Napoleon nodded at me, approvingly.

Not long after, the chaise began to slow down, and we then came to a halt. Looking out of the window, I saw the familiar three- and four-story houses around St James’s Square, looming up out of the darkness. Only in a few windows was light still visible.

I turned to Mr Ambrose.

‘Well… I guess that was it, then,’ I mumbled.

Silence.

‘I don't suppose you want to congratulate me on my excellent work? You know, finding the place where the file is for you, and all that?’

More silence.

‘That’s what I thought.’ Sighing, I pushed the door open and clambered out of the carriage. I was careful when I set my foot on the cobblestones of the square. St James’s was familiar, a friend - completely unlike the floor in Mr Ambrose’s office. Still, you never knew. Tonight, all flat surfaces seemed to have it in for me.

I already wanted to walk away, but then I hesitated one final time.

‘Mr Ambrose?’

Silence.

‘Good night, Si-’

‘Driver!’ he cut me off. ‘Get moving!’

Behind me, the whip cracked, the grey horse whinnied. I jumped out of the way, just in time to avoid getting sprayed by the chaise as it drove through a puddle. It raced across the empty square and out of sight as it plunged into the darkness of nocturnal London.

Said darkness of nocturnal London proved a not inconsiderable hindrance in reaching my uncle’s house. It wasn’t far away, of course - most of the streets were lit by gas lanterns and I knew the area well - but I had never considered how different things might look at night. For example, there were all those pretty lights dancing in the air around me. Were they there every night? If so, I should be out this late more often. London seemed much more interesting at nighttime.

There was a strange pounding in my ears, getting louder as I stumbled forward. It was probably Napoleon and a regiment of cavalry, riding off to conquer the world. Oh well, I wished him luck with all my heart. I probably had to abandon that particular project. I felt so tired… Conquering all the world seemed too exhausting an idea.

Maybe you could take over just half the world? Or only Eurasia?

Yes, that sounded acceptable. But the rest would have to wait until tomorrow.

Finally, I found my way to the little wooden door in the wall surrounding my uncle’s back garden. After some groping around in my pockets, I managed to unearth the key and insert it into the one of the three fuzzy-looking locks that proved most substantial. Safe inside the garden, out of sight of prying eyes, I slipped into the shed and changed my clothes. Taking the garden ladder with me, I approached the window, gazing up at the mountainous height I had to climb.

Ha! I would climb this peak! And if I was going to perish like all the brave explorers before me, who had boldly ventured where no man (or woman!) had gone before, then so be it! I had been planning on conquering the world, after all. Climbing a ladder would be easy.

Well, it didn’t turn out to be, really, but I managed to hit the first rung with my foot after only three failed attempts. After that, things got a bit simpler. I climbed higher and higher until suddenly, there loomed an opening before me. What was this again?

Your window, you idiot!

Oh yes! Quite right. I wanted to climb through the window into my room. That was why I was up here in the first place. Funny how that had almost slipped my mind.

Through the window, I could see Ella. She was sitting in bed - in my bed, to be precise -anxiously twisting the sheet on my empty mattress between the fingers of her small, ivory hands and staring down at my rumpled pillow.

‘Lill,’ she sighed, again and again. ‘Oh Lill!’

Strange… Why was she trying to talk to me, when from what she knew, I wasn’t even there? And why was she up in the middle of the night? She should be in bed, recuperating from an evening of tiring love affairs at the garden fence. But there she was, sitting, awake, and for some reason, apparently quite upset, too.

Taking the last few rungs, I swung my leg over the windowsill. When Ella heard a sound coming from the window, she sprang up and whirled around, clutching her hands to her chest. Her mouth opened to scream as she saw a sinister figure climbing in through her bedroom window.

The sinister figure, that is to say I, sprang forward and clamped a hand over her mouth.

‘Be quiet, silly! It’s no burglar, only me!’ I hissed into her ear. ‘If you scream, you’ll chase the little yellow piggies away!’

Her whole body relaxed in my arms.

‘Mmpf! Mgmpf nmm mpf.’

‘I suppose that means “Hello, Lilly, how nice to see you”?’

‘Mmmpf!’

‘I see. It’s nice to see you, too. If I let you go, do you promise not to scream?’

‘Ympf!’

Seeing as that was the closest approximation to a ‘yes’ I was likely to receive, I took my hand from her mouth. She turned to face me, grabbing me by the shoulders. Her eyes were large and moist with panic.

‘Dear God, Lilly! Where have you been? I was expecting you to come home hours ago, and I waited and waited, but you never arrived. I’ve had to tell the most dreadful, fiendish lies to explain your absence to Aunt. Where have you been?’ pqdm.com