Page 119 of Storm of Bells
And then, with truly epic timing, the voiceof a woman with a colossal cockney accent drifted over the crowdfrom behind the hindmost coach.
‘Oy, ye dere, guv! Get yer fancy coach out ofda way!’
Beside me, my aunt stiffened.
‘Is that more of London’s “high society”?’ MrAmbrose enquired, his voice deadly.
I shrugged, trying to keep my faceexpressionless. It was a truly hard battle. ‘Depends on what youconsider high.’
I’m sure she’s brought quite a few people tointeresting heights.
A few most definitely non-high-society cursesissued from behind the hindmost coach. The assembled ladies andgentlemen turned around to stare, horrified. The assembled coachmenand Adaira turned around to stare, impressed. Swiftly, the coachmenstarted to move their vehicles out of the way of whoever wascoming. They recognized the tone of a woman who was not to bemessed with.
From behind the three coaches emerged afourth vehicle. Where the fancy coaches had made only a mildimpression on the already assembled crowd, the newest arrivalelicited a far more impressive reaction. And why not? It was atruly magnificent vehicle!
The dilapidated old hay wagon slowly creakedup the driveway. It moved at a glacial pace which, in part, wasprobably due to the grumpy-looking oxen that pulled the thing, andin part to the fact that the farmer on the box had long ago fallenasleep. The assembled aristocrats stared in horror at the pleb andhis deplorable vehicle.
My eyes, however, weren’t on the farmer, noron the darling oxen who might be the only beings in this world whocould resist Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s work ethic. Instead, my gazerested on the young lady who was lounging atop the pile of hay onthe back of the wagon, a piece of straw in the corner of her mouthand a parasol above her head, shielding her from the brilliant noonsun.
‘Amy!’
‘Lilly!’ Grinning wider than her madam’ships—and that was saying something—Amy slid down the hay pile,jumped off the wagon and rushed towards me. I met her half-way,throwing my arms around the girl and hugging her close.
‘I’m so ‘appy to see ye!’ she gushed.
‘So am I.’ I winked, and tilted my headtowards Mr Ambrose. ‘As long as we’re clear thatheis offlimits.’
‘Lilly! How could ye suspect me? I’m yerfriend!’
I gave her a look and raised an eyebrow.
‘Plus,’ she added, ‘It ain’t as if I’d everget a single penny out of ‘im.’
I smiled.
‘But…’ Amy’s eyes slid away from Mr Ambrose,across the other assembled gentlemen, like a lioness eyingprospective prey, as she lowered her voice. ‘Does the same “’andsoff”-rule apply for da rest of dem?’
My smile widened into a wicked grin.
‘Not in the least.’
‘Hm.’ Her gaze slid over the crowd oncemore—then halted. On Karim. ‘Interestin’.’
‘Hello there, my dear! Welcome!’
We turned around to see Lady Samantha rushingtowards us, light shining in her eyes. Behind her stalked MrRikkard Ambrose. There was definitelysomethingshining inhis eyes, but it most certainly wasn’t light.
‘Who,’ he demanded, his voice at sub-zerotemperature, ‘is that?’
‘Rick!’ the marchioness admonished him. ‘Isthat any way to greet a guest?’
‘Yes,’ he told her, without even blinking.‘Mine.’
‘Please excuse my son, Miss.’ The marchionessturned towards Amy with a warm smile. Her eyes flickered over Amy’smended, and clearly cheap, dress—yet not an iota of friendlinessfled from her face. In that moment, I really, really loved LadySamantha Genevieve Ambrose. ‘I’m afraid he has no manners. Hedisposed of them at a pawn shop years ago.’
Amy curtsied and gifted the marchioness witha smile that had won, if not the hearts, then definitely thewallets of hundreds of men. ‘Think nothing of it, Yer Ladyship.It’d take a lot worse than ‘im to scare me off.’
‘A lady with spirit!’ The marchioness beamed.‘Wonderful! Won’t you introduce your friend, Miss Linton?’
