Hunting for Silence

05. My First Time

'Pfft...! Pffft...!'

Panting like an asthmatic steam engine, I leant against the brick wall of the house behind me and peered around the corner. No Karim. No aunt. Yay! I had managed to outrun them. If I was especially lucky, they had run into each other, and Aunt Brank would by now be busy trying to marry Karim off to Anne or Maria.

Indulging for a few moments in that sweet fantasy, I gave myself a bit of time to rest. Then I set out towards the Charing Cross Coaching Inn. I suppose I could have embarked towards France straight from the London docks, but that was what Karim would be expecting. Besides, there would be very few passenger ships departing to France at this hour of the night, if any. Yet there would be no shortage of coaches travelling down towards the coast, heading for Dover. Dover was the big port for channel crossings. If I wanted a fast way to get to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, it would be from there.

Halfway to the inn, I stopped at a bank that offered storage, not just in safe deposit boxes, but bigger lockers as well. I had stored a getaway suitcase there a while ago, in case I would ever need to run from my aunt's marriage schemes. Now it would serve a different purpose.

Plus one case and minus one floppy hat (the bloody thing had been a bit too cumbersome), I approached the coaching inn, my heart pounding. For a moment I didn't know why. Why would there be beads of sweat on my forehead?

Then I realised—this was the first time. The first time I had ever been completely on my own. I had been to Brazil and Argentina, to Egypt and the North of England (which is a lot more foreign, than Egypt, trust me). But never once in my life had I been completely on my own. Mr Ambrose had always been with me, and if he hadn't been, Karim had. God! Could it be that I was actually missing that big, bearded mountain?

Get a grip, Lilly! You've only just managed to escape his clutches. Now isn't the time to get soft.

Still—being alone was a scary thought. I didn't even have Ambrose the camel for moral support and face-spitting.

You're a strong woman, Lilly! You can find your way without a camel to spit in your face!

Raising my chin, I marched down the street and knocked on the inn's door. A moment later, it was opened by a portly man with an apron around what had once been a waist, but now was more of a barrel. He smiled down at me from an impressive height.

'Good evening, Guv, good evening! What can I do for ye?'

I cleared my throat. 'Good evening to you, too, Sir. I was wondering whether there's a coach departing for Dover soon.'

'You're in luck, Guv. One's about to arrive 'ere in just 'alf an hour or so. And...wait a minute, let me check my logs...' Bustling over to his counter, he started leafing through a tattered, grease-stained book. 'Ah yes, 'ere we 'ave it! Three seats in the Dover coach are still empty. Looks like there's gonna be plenty of room.'

Breathing a sigh of relief, I hurried over to one of the tables scattered throughout the room and settled down. I hadn't dared to use my disguise twice to reserve seats for me on the coach. If Karim had seen and followed me, my whole plan would have been ruined. It had been a bit of a gamble, hoping that there would still be empty seats. I guess I was in luck that France wasn't as popular a destination nowadays as it had been during the Napoleonic Wars.

'Here you go, Sir.' The innkeeper hurried over and placed a tankard of ale in front of me. 'It won't be long.'

'Thank you.'

In my quiet corner, I watched and sipped my ale while more and more people filed into the inn's common room. Some came from outside, some from rooms on the upper storeys, where they had obviously been staying. Trying not to be too obvious, I scanned the people with whom I would be spending the next few hours. There was a clerk in a cheap suit and bowler hat and a harried look in his eyes that I remembered seeing in the mirror on busy work days, several ladies, a travelling salesmen who made his rounds through the common room trying to sell everyone brushes and cheap perfume, and a grumpy old fellow who muttered to himself in French. None of them looked overtly menacing or dangerous. Still, I was glad I had my revolver in my pocket. You never knew.