Page 173 of Storm of Bells
‘I remember every word. So many words.’Again, that muscle twitched. ‘Far too many. It was all my fault. IfI hadn’t persuaded him, nothing like this would ever have happened.I was a disgrace to the family. Finally, my father yelled at me toget out, and…and…’ His Adam’s apple bobbed, once. ‘…and so Idid.’
I blinked. ‘Got out?’
‘Yes.’
‘Out of what? The room?’
He cocked his head. ‘The room. His house. Hislife.’
‘You…youran away?’
He met my gaze. Coolly. Proudly. I could justimagine his fifteen-year-old self gazing with the same cool,composure at an equally stubborn father. ‘He told me he neverwanted to see me again.’
‘And youtook him literally?’
‘Of course.’
I felt a sudden urge to bang my head againstthe wall. No. Scratch that. I should banghishead againstthe wall. The only reason I didn’t was that the wall probablywouldn’t survive it.
I was just considering how best to get a gripon his cranium, when he continued speaking. The words were flowingout of him, as if with my question I had opened a wound that no onewas able to close.
‘I ran. I ran and ran and ran, until Ireached a harbour city, and I ran onto a ship, went straight acrossthe ocean, and…’
He paused for a moment, breathing hard.
‘I spent months, shivering in the dark,hungry and alone. I didn’t understand. I had been a marquess’s son.A nobleman, wealthy and respected and happy. How could I have cometo this? And then, one day, on a street corner, I saw a poster:
Apprentices wanted!
Apply at 37 Stone Street
Steady wages guaranteed
And it just clicked. Wages. Money. That wasit. That’s what I’d been lacking, and that was what I needed. I’dhad money in the past, but it had never really been mine. I didn’tearn it, let alone deserve it. That was something that had tochange. So, I stood up and went to 37 Stone Street.’
Tears brimming in my eyes, I reached over tosqueeze his hand, for the first time feeling real understanding.‘You wanted to stand on your own two feet,’ I whispered. ‘To beindependent.’
Glancing up, he met my eyes. The dark poolsof his eyes were swirling, drawing me in. ‘Yes. I suppose I did.’Turning over his hand, he grasped my fingers as if they were hisanchor to the world. ‘I spent years in the colonies, working tillmy hands bled, armed and on guard, determined to never again fallprey to anyone, never again take charity. I had only one goal:build an empire big enough to grind Dalgliesh into the dust!’
Bloody hell! Having a goal is one thing—butbeing determined enough to actually pull it off?
I wanted to ask how he did it, to demand whata fifteen-year-old boy could possibly have done to become therichest man of the British Empire. But that was a story for anotherday.
‘When I came back,’ he continued, still inthe same cool and crisp report tone, ‘I bought back my family’shouse and lands through a front man and gave it back to them. Onlythen did I reveal myself to them.’
His fist clenched.
‘It…didn’t go as expected?’ I enquiredsoftly.
Mr Ambrose mouth tightened into a razor sharpline. ‘Hecould never forgive that I lost his fortune. Andabove all, he could never forgive my winning it back—when he couldnot.’
All right…time to change the subject. Heclearly didn’t want to talk about this subject. I should just shutmy mouth and pretend this talk hadn’t taken place. And yet…andyet…
He might not want to talk about his father.He might not even want to listen. But I had something else tooffer.
Cautiously, I half-rose to my feet, carefulnot to bump my head against the roof of the coach, and reached outtowards him. My arms gently encircled him and, pulling him againstme, I pulled his face against my chest, while my fingers strokedthe back of his head. Under my touch, he slowly relaxed. We stayedlike that for a long time, until finally, I realized where exactlyhis nose was located and quickly stepped back.
‘Um. Well.’ I retreated farther, my earsheating. Settling back into my seat, I turned back to the articlesappropriated from Lord Dalgliesh’s pockets, trying to avoid hiseyes. ‘Let’s see what we have here, shall we?’
