Silence Breaking

17. Pandemonium

Unlike I expected, we didn't go directly to the mines. I soon realised why. If Mr Ambrose was anything, he was a cool-headed tactician. And appearing amidst a blood-thirsty mob in a rush, alone and on exhausted horses would not be a good move.

Instead, he led the way to a small two-storey town house on the safe side of the river. It was painted a dark brown colour that made soot stains hard to see, and ivy was climbing up one side of it. The door stood half open, and I could hear the voices of people whispering accompanied by soft crying.

'What is this place?' I asked.

'The mine manager's house,' came Mr Ambrose's curt reply. 'Since he won't need it anymore, we shall be using is as base of operations while we are in Newcastle.'

'Um...will his family let us stay?'

'They don't have any say in the matter. The house doesn't belong to them, but is on loan from the mining company.'

I opened my mouth to suggest whether we maybe shouldn't intrude on them in a time of mourning – but then I remembered whom I was talking to, and shut my mouth again.

Riding up straight to the front porch, Mr Ambrose slid of his stallion.

'Karim, Mr Linton – with me!'

We followed wordlessly as he strode up the stairs towards the open door. The whispers and crying from inside continued. We stepped into the house, Mr Ambrose in the lead, and through the first open door into a room where a sort of impromptu pre-funeral seemed to be going on. There were lots of people in black, and a sniffling woman wearing a veil. Mr Ambrose marched right up to her and placed himself before her, giving her a look as if she were a soldier whose bravery was in doubt, not a woman who had just lost her husband.

'Stop crying. Now!'

Everyone turned to stare. A hush fell over the room, and – voilà – the woman stopped sniffling. She blinked up at Mr Ambrose. 'W-what...who...'

Mr Ambrose didn't let her finish. 'Where are your guestrooms?'

'P-pardon?'

'I said, where are your guestrooms?'

'Why would you want to know? Who in heaven's name are you?'

'I'm the man who's going to avenge your husband and see to it that the people responsible dangle from the gallows by the end of the week. Now, for the last time, madam – where are your guestrooms?'

Slowly, the woman reached up and pulled her veil aside. Tears were still glittering on her cheeks. But there was a look in her eyes that I bet hadn't been there a moment before.

'Y-you can do that? You can get justice for my Jack?'

'Not justice. Vengeance. And yes, I can.'

'Who are you?'

He leaned forward just an inch or two. The woman seemed incredibly small and breakable in his shadow. 'Rikkard Ambrose.'

If it had been quiet in the room before, that was nothing compared to the absolute nothingness of silence that suddenly fell over the gloomy space. You could have heard a pin thinking of maybe dropping in a couple of hundred years. A ferocious gleam entered the woman's eyes, making one thing a hundred per cent clear: she knew the name. And she wasn't the only one.

'The Rikkard Ambrose?'

'Yes.'

The woman's face hardened, and she said something that made my respect rise for her a hundred miles. 'How do I know that it wasn't you who was responsible for my husband's death? It was chaos down there! Nobody knows who or what killed him. Maybe it wasn't one of the miners but the explosion. Your mine, your explosion. Maybe it is you I should want to see dangling from the gallows.'