"W-what?" I gasped

"And one from another gentleman, for you, Miss Lillian," Leadfield repeated, stoically.

"I heard you the first time! But when? Why? And in God's name, from whom?"

"Err... they arrived just now Miss. As to why..." the old butler blushed a little. "Well, I couldn't say. And from whom... I think I saw a card with the bouquet, but I did not read it."

Frantically I sprang up and rushed to Leadfield, desperate to know the name of my hidden enemy. I ripped the card out of the bouquet, unfolded it and read:

"In memory of the first ball where we did NOT dance together. I am looking forward to changing that soon.

Lieutenant Ellingham."

Only when silence spread over the room did I realize that I had read aloud. The gazes of my entire family turned to me, and I wished heartily that I could just sink into the floor and disappear.

"Who is Lieutenant Ellingham?" asked Gertrude.

"He wanted to dance with you?" asked Maria.

"Is he a madman?" asked Anne.

"What does he mean, 'the first ball where you did NOT dance together'?" asked Lisbeth.

"He's an officer," my aunt interrupted the barrage of questions, twirling her spoon thoughtfully. "You could do a lot worse, Lillian. Better secure him before he changes his mind. Oh yes, you'd better hurry, before he actually gets to know you."

I didn't really hear any of them. I was still in shock. Lieutenant Ellingham? Lieutenant Ellingham? He wished to make an offer to me? To seek my hand? It seemed hardly creditable.

Not that I did not believe him capable of flattering himself into the belief I might be attracted to him. From what I had seen so far, he could flatter himself into believing that the sky was brown and the earth blue. But what in the name of Jesus and all his Apostles could make him attracted to me? I had done my very best to be as ghastly to him as humanly possible!

I looked down at the card again, hoping that maybe it might have disappeared, or changed its message. But there it was still, like a massive viper just waiting to bite me. Maybe it was just a joke. Maybe he wouldn't show up here after all. Yes, that had to be it. He probably was having fun with his drinking buddies from the regiment, imagining my face at this very moment.

Resolutely, I crumpled the card and dumped it into my empty porridge bowl.

"You shouldn't have done that," remarked Maria sweetly. "In your place, I would have framed it and hung it on the wall – because of the scarcity value, you know."

Not deeming to give her a reply, I rushed out of the room and into the garden. I did not have the time for either her or the oh-so-funny Lieutenant Ellingham at the moment. It was only an hour till nine o'clock and I needed to get changed.

If I remembered correctly, Mr Ambrose didn't tolerate tardiness.

*~*~**~*~*

Wisely, I had stashed the clothes I had borrowed from my uncle in the garden shed. Nobody ever came in there, so I changed in the dusty little wooden shack, without fear of discovery. I was quite glad in fact that I wasn't putting on the baggy, striped trousers and oversized jacket in my room: there, I couldn't have helped looking in the mirror. Oh, how I was looking forward to receiving my first pay check and buying clothes in which I could pass for an actual gentleman, not just a scarecrow wearing rags three sizes too big for her. Or him. Depending on your point of view.

Completely attired, I left the garden through the little back door in the wall. This time I had ample time to walk, which was fortunate since I most certainly did not have ample money to pay for another cab ride. I reached Empire House by about a quarter before nine. In the entrance hall, which was as busy as ever, Sallow-Face at the front desk let me pass without comment. He had accepted me, apparently. Why couldn't his master do the same?

Maybe, because he's an arrogant bastard. Or maybe because he knows you're a girl. Most probably both.

But I would be damned if I put up with this any longer! Oh no. I'd force him to look at me, to accept me, to work as me as he would with any man!

Smiling to myself, I began to ascend the stairs. I knew exactly what I had to do. Since he always locked the door connecting our offices, I would take another route and march in through the main door. Simple. Mr Stone wouldn't dare stop me, I'm sure. He wasn't as tough as Sallow-Face. And then I would give Mr Rikkard Ambrose a piece of my mind!

My brilliant plan was smashed into ruins, however, as soon as I stepped into the long hallway at the top of the stairs. Everything was exactly as it should be – Mr Stone was behind his desk, all the doors were closed, the stone walls were still made of bare stone, and the floors were still horizontal. Yes, everything was as it was supposed to be – except for the massive figure towering behind Mr Stone, right in front of Mr Ambrose's office door.

The mountainous dark-skinned man wouldn't have needed to wear his turban or sabre for me to recognize him on the spot; I remembered him all too well. Nevertheless, Karim's accessories looked impressive. Considerably more impressive than the top hat I had with me.

Swallowing my apprehension, I walked down the hall.

"Good Morning, Mr Stone," I said.

"Good Morning, Mr Linton."

I stepped past his desk and tried to move towards the office door. Karim did not budge an inch.

"Excuse me, you're standing in my way," I said.

"Yes," he growled. He wasn't looking at me, but staring straight ahead, which meant he was focusing on a point some 5 inches above my top hat. He really was big. Too big.

"Well, would you mind getting out of the way?" I persisted, trying to shove past him, towards the door.

"Yes."

"But I have to speak to Mr Ambrose."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I do. So will you let me into the office?"

"No."

"Why not?"

At last he seemed to feel that my question merited more than a single syllable. Still staring straight ahead, he proclaimed: "Mr Ambrose is busy."

"With what?"

"With business."

"Well, thank you very much for that informative answer! When will he be finished, do you think?"

"Mr Ambrose is busy for a long time."

"He has been like this all day," Mr Stone whispered when I turned away angrily. "I must say I am quite perturbed. Karim is Mr Ambrose's man for... special tasks. You know, um... dangerous matters?"

He looked around anxiously, as if waiting for an assassin to spring from the shadows.

"He has never been posted here yet, Mr Linton. I am afraid that Mr Ambrose perceives some terrible threat to his person."

Oh yes, a very terrible threat, I thought, staring venomously at the bearded figure in front of the door. A girl who doesn't want to be called 'Mister' all day! Mr Ambrose's man for special tasks indeed!

"Well, I'll just have to talk to him later then," I said to Mr Stone, trying to rein in my stormy temper. "I'd better get into my office and start working."

"Oh yes, your work!" Mr Stone slapped his forehead. "I almost forgot. These arrived for Mr Ambrose early this morning."

And he held out a bunch of letters. My brow furrowed in thought. Somewhere I had heard of this. Secretaries took care of their employer's correspondence, didn't they? But what exactly did they do with the letters? Read them? Answer them? Eat them for breakfast?

"Um... what am I supposed do with them?" I asked.

If Mr Stone found the question strange, he didn't let on.

"You are to separate the important from the unimportant, and only the former is to be given to Mr Ambrose."

Taking the letters, I inquired: "And how am I to know what Mr Ambrose considers important?"

He gave me a little smile. "The answer to that question will determine how long you keep your job here. Good luck."

With that, he sat down and returned to his own work. I strode over to the door which lead to the room I still had difficulty thinking of as "my office". But it was. I had an office! Me! Sweet little me! Now all I had to do was keep it...

I laid down the ominous pile of letters on my yes – yes, my desk! – and started looking through them.

There was a stack of invitations to various social events. Hmm. I looked at the firmly closed and bolted door connecting my office with that of my employer. Something told me that Mr Ambrose wasn't a very social person. Plus, the invitations seemed to be issued by Lady Metcalf and her circle of friends. Apparently, the fine lady was not so disgusted by Mr Ambrose's working for a living that she didn't want him at her parties and dancing with her daughters.

I smiled, and with a great deal of relish, crumpled up those letters and chucked them into the bin.

Next there were charity requests. I wasn't sure about those, but put them on the pile to go to his office, just in case. It couldn't hurt to be charitable, right?

Then there were a few letters which, on being opened, revealed themselves to be about business. I didn't understand above one word in ten they said, but it sounded important so I put them on the pile too.

Last but not least came a letter like no other: It was no invitation. It wasn't advertising. And it sure as hell wasn't business. That was pretty obvious from the fact that it came in a pink, strongly scented envelope.

"What the..."

I almost broke out laughing when I smelled the perfume! Mr Ambrose had a lady friend? A secret love, maybe? But then I saw the address of the sender, and her name. In curly, old-fashioned writing was written:

Samantha Genevieve Ambrose

Ambrose? A relative? A sister, maybe? I couldn't suppress a snort of laughter at that. To be honest, it was even harder to imagine Mr Ambrose as a family man than as a lover.

Then I noticed something printed next to the address of the sender and frowned.

"Now what is this doing here...?" I muttered leaning closer.

If the letter came from Mr Ambrose's family, the family of a simple, if rich, citizen, how did there come to be a coat of arms to be stamped on the envelope?

Quite an elaborate coat of arms, too. I didn't know much about the nobility, but I knew enough to realize that a crest like this didn't come from a simple knighthood. The coat of arms had the look of centuries on it: the rose in the upper right and the lion in the lower left corner reminded me of the little I had remembered of my lessons in English history.

In a flash, I suddenly remembered what one of the ladies at the ball had said... something about a noble family Ambrose in the North. An Earl's family.

"I'll be damned!"

But no... that couldn't be. It just couldn't be Mr Ambrose's family, could it? If he were an earl's son, he wouldn't be calling himself 'Mister' Ambrose. He would have the right to call himself Baron or Lord somethingorother.

Curious. Very curious indeed.

And who was this lady? Samantha?

With a slight feeling of regret at letting go of the mystery, I placed the pink letter back on the table. For just a moment I considered throwing it away. It was obviously full of soppy romantic nonsense—nothing important, in my opinion. Yet Mr Ambrose might feel differently about the matter.

When I rose with all the letters in my hand, I realized for the first time that now was my chance to finally see him again! The thick pile of letters couldn't fit under the door, so he had to open it. Triumphantly I marched over the door and raised my hand to knock – only to discover that in my absence, a letter slot had been installed in the middle of the tick wooden door.

Angrily, I pushed the letters through and heard them land on some kind of tablet. "Here," I called. "I hope you choke on them!"

Shortly afterwards, the slot opened again and several of the letters fell onto the floor with a resounding "thwack!" When I went over and picked them up, I saw that it was the charity requests and the letter from Samantha Genevieve – the latter hadn't even been opened.

A note was fastened to the top letter:

Mr Linton,

Did Mr Stone not express himself clearly? Only send those letters to me which are of interest to me.

I stared blankly at the note was this chap for real? He hadn't even bothered to open the pink letter, so clearly personal. Neither had he bothered to sign his message to me, this time – but really there was no need. There was only one person in the entire British Empire who could write like this.

Angrily I stomped over to my desk, grabbed one of the message papers and a pen and began scribbling.

Charity is important! Is the improvement of the lives of the poor is of no interest to you?

The reply came almost instantly.

Not if by so doing they become richer and I poorer.

"Gah!"

Grinding my teeth, I took a look around the office: bare stone walls, no ornaments, no carpets, no nothing. Of course!  He was mean with money. I should have guessed from the way he dressed – all in simple black without one piece of colourful brocade or silk on his waistcoat. He practically had the word 'SKINFLINT'  printed on his forehead. In capitals.

Too bad he didn't look like a skinflint. He should be old and ugly and skinny, like my aunt, not some reincarnation of Adonis in granite. That would make working for him so much easier!

But what about the personal letter? Taking that out of the pile, I examined it closely. It really hadn't been opened. Who was it from? What was it about? Why hadn't it been opened? My fingers hesitated over the next piece of message paper. I would have loved to ask, but didn't dare. I didn't want to get fired on my second day at work.

So instead I wrote:

Dear Mr Abrose,

Be assured that you shall receive no further requests to do good deeds from me.

Yours Sincerely

MISS Lilly Linton

The reply wasn't long in coming.

Mr Linton,

It is not doing good deeds that I object to, it is the principle of charity. I do not give something for nothing. Remember that, Mr Linton.

Rikkard Ambrose

Dear God, was he threatening me?

Yes, probably.

A tingle went down my spine. It felt dangerous, dark and... exciting?

Then another message popped out of the hole in the wall.

Mr Linton,

Bring me file 38XI199.

Rikkard Ambrose

Spiffing. Here we go again.

*~*~**~*~*

Back and forth, back and forth I went the whole day, like a busy little ant carrying bits of leafs to the hill—only that I carried darn heavy files instead of leafs. Oh, and there also was the fact that ants could lift five times their body weight, and that they couldn't get chucked out of the anthill for not working fast enough.

Lucky ants.

I, for my part, heard a fresh "ping" that announced another demand for a file every five minuts. Apparently Mr Ambrose was still determined to break my resolution and make me give him some excuse for firing me. Ha! That fellow didn't know me from Adam!

Or rather Eve, since I was a girl.

Some part of me wondered what he did with all those files. Surely, a secretary's duties consisted of more than carrying files? Having letters dictated, for example.

"Oh, but for that he'd actually speak to me," I muttered, grabbing another box of files from the shelves. "And he couldn't do that, now could he! Blast him!"

While I slaved away, my determination grew. I would keep this job. Moreover, I would make him accept me as a girl, and then I could come to work in my own clothes and stop wearing this stupid top hat! But how to make him accept me?

"I have to catch him," I growled, grabbing the next box and imagining that it was Mr Ambrose stiff neck. "I have to grab him and simply make him see!"

Yesterday, I hadn't been able to get to him in time, and he had escaped. Today, he had placed his watch dog in front of the door – but he would have to come out eventually. To prevent him slipping away like last time, I cracked my office door open and kept an ear on any steps moving out there.

As the day progressed, I got more and more excited. The thought of seeing him again – and of giving him a whopping big piece of my mind – was thrilling. I hadn't set eyes on him since the day he not-so-graciously accepted me into his service, and was looking forward to the encounter very much. Hm... Did punching your employer count as grounds for dismissal?

Too bad I didn't have my parasol with me.

Some time around twelve o'clock, the requests for files suddenly stopped.

Ah! He was preparing to leave. Now he had to be coming soon. I sidled up to the door in anticipation.

Steps approached my door. What? Was he coming to see me? No, the steps didn't sound like him. Too slow, too timid. There was a knock on my door and Mr Stone's voice called: "Mr Linton? May I come in?"

"Please do," I said, stepping back, frowning.

Mr Stone entered with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. "I am to inform you," he said, "that Mr Ambrose has left again and that you can finish your day early, too, if you want to."

"What?!"

"Yes, the strangest matter indeed. He never leaves early normally, and now twice in a row? And this time even went down the back staircase that is normally never used. I am beginning to fear for our master's safety."

"You are, are you?" I grabbed my top hat off the desk and slammed it on my head with probably a bit too much force. "Well, you're right to be!"

Mr Stone paled. "So you think too that his life is in danger? That there is someone after him?"

"You bet there is," I growled, and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

Oh that... I couldn't even think of a bad enough word for him! The next time I would get my hands on him, I would take one of those little message contains with the words 'I AM FEMALE' in it and stuff it down his throat!

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My dear Lords, Ladies & Gentlemen,

Are you surprised to get a chapter so quickly? I had a some free days on my hand, and thus I decided why not do a little bit of extra writing and make some extra installments in order to say "thank you" for all your fabulous support of this book.

Thank you all! You are the best!

**deep Victorian bow**

I might be able to squeeze in a few more quick updates, depending on how much free time I get and how much my fingers ache from full-time writing ;) Wish me luck!

Your insanely scribbling Victorian writer ;-)

Sir Rob