Lady Allen, obviously the one who had asked the question, flushed a little. ‘From what I’ve heard since I’ve arrived in town, he’s rumoured to be one of the richest men in London,’ she said defensively.
‘One of the richest?’ The duchess laughed. The sound almost made me want to go away again, or at least stuff my ears while it lasted. ‘My dear, from what my sources tell me, he is the richest. His wealth is unparalleled. There is only one other man who can hold a candle to him.’
Lady Allen’s mouth formed a little 'O', and her eyes went wide.
And I had to admit, to my shame: for once in my life I felt the same as Lady Allen and the Duchess of Brandon. I was awed, and a cold shiver ran down my back. The more I heard about Mr Ambrose, the more rich and powerful he seemed to become. Where the hell did all this wealth come from? I couldn’t believe he was simply the heir of some large estate. Why would he have that monumental building in the city if his wealth came from his inheritance? And what had all those people been doing there, hurrying about, carrying papers?
The third member of the little discussion group behind the potted plant seemed to harbour similar questions.
‘Yes, yes.’ I knew that voice. Peeking through the foliage, I saw Lady Metcalf wave her fan. ‘But does anybody know where his wealth comes from? I must say, I have my suspicions that it’s not honest money, and that he is no gentleman. I have repeatedly invited him to balls and the theatre, and never once has he accepted my invitation. He hasn’t even replied! The nerve of him! I say there must be something fishy about him, there is no other way to explain such dastardly behaviour.’
For some reasons those words made a grin appear on my face. Suddenly, I liked my employer a little bit better. Just a little bit.
‘Well…’ the duchess said in that drawn-out tone that said ‘I have a shocking piece of information and I am willing to share, but you must badger me first since I cannot very well appear to be a gossip.’
‘Yes?’ Lady Metcalf leaned closer, eagerly. ‘You know something, Duchess?’
Carefully, I stepped even closer to the potted plant, praying they would not notice me. The duchess was a treasure trove of gossip, and for once I was actually interested in what she had to say. Very much so.
‘I really can’t,’ she protested. ‘It is only a rumour, and I would never want to slander anybody.’
Amazing how people could lie without their face twitching.
‘We won’t tell,’ Lady Metcalf assured her.
‘Yes,’ Lady Allen concurred. ‘You know us. We don't gossip.’
Really, really amazing.
‘Well… all right, if you promise not to repeat anything I say.’
‘We promise,’ Lady Metcalf nodded eagerly.
‘It is only a rumour, mind you, and I do not have any proof.’ The duchess gloried in the eager anticipation of her friends.
‘Does he have anything to do with the Ambroses in the North?’ Lady Metcalf tried to guess. ‘A very good family, I think.’
‘Dear Lord no, my dear. The Northern Ambroses? The earl’s family? They may have recovered from their financial difficulties, but I assure you, they do not have the kind of money this Mr Ambrose has.’
‘But if he has not inherited his wealth from them, where did it come from?’
The Duchess smiled. Lowering her voice, she said:
‘That is the shocking part. I have heard,’ she continued lowering her voice even more until it was only a whisper, ‘that he is involved in commerce!’
The two ladies gasped in shock.
‘Surely not!’
‘Unbelievable!’
‘And trade. And he invests in manufacturing and industry. Can you imagine?’
Lady Metcalf began to fan herself. ‘Stop, please, my friend. Or I am going to faint. That anybody should degrade himself so…’
‘You have not heard the worse of it,’ the Duchess said, ominously.
‘My dear, what could be worse than that?’
‘I have heard, from a very reliable source, that during his youth he actually worked for money, that he did manual labour.’
‘Dear me!’
‘Heavens!’
‘Yes,’ the Duchess repeated with glee. ‘He worked for a living! Among common working-class folk! It is hardly creditable, is it not?’
‘Please, have mercy on us, stop!’
‘And not even here in the United Kingdom - but in some wild place in the former colonies!’
‘You don't mean - oh goodness, you don't mean that awful place… what do the people call it again?’
‘The “United States of America”.’
‘God, yes. Please, Duchess, no more. Even the mere thought of that place makes me shudder!’
‘They do not even have a king over there, do they?’
‘Worse, my dear! They do not even take tea in the afternoon.’
I didn’t catch much of the conversation after that. I had to admit, I was too blown away. Well, well, well… a gentleman who once did work for wages and earned his way to the top. What a novel idea. I couldn’t suppress a grin. How very naughty of you, Mr Ambrose, to so flout the traditions of the English upper class.
But then my good mood vanished and I was overtaken by sudden anger. How dare he? How dare he judge me and my attempt to earn a living when he himself had done the same? Yes, I was a girl and he was man, but apparently a gentleman. For a gentleman to work for a living was almost more outlandish than for a female to do it. And how, by the way, had he gotten so stinking rich at it? He couldn’t have worked as a secretary, that much was for sure.
‘'I will find out the truth about you, Mr Ambrose,’ I vowed to myself. ‘And I will make you accept me. You are my ticket to freedom, whether you like it or not.’
The ball ended about three months later. Well, it felt like that to me, anyway, although it probably only was a few hours. We were conducted outside not only by servants number one, two, three, four, seven, eleven and twenty-five, but also by an enthusiastic Sir Philip Wilkins, who kept flashing meaningful smiles at Ella and waggling his over-large ears. Though I rather think he didn’t do the latter intentionally. Outside, he personally called one of his carriages to convey us home - and not the same carriage either, but an even larger and more luxurious version.
