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.'

Well now, that was a brave woman. A woman to admire. Sure, she had just basically accused the man I loved of murder and threatened to see him hang, but between kindred spirits such small faults can be easily overlooked, right?

Mr Ambrose didn't retreat an inch. He gave the woman his iciest stare. 'All my miners are equipped with Stephenson safety lamps, the latest models of CGDIs, and–'

'CGDIs?'

Mr Ambrose half-turned, throwing me an icy look for my interruption. 'Canary Gas Detection Implements. If the canary dies, there's gas in the mine and you had better get out.'

'Oh. I see. Pray continue.'

'As I was saying, there are extensive security measures in place. The miners are checked for flammable material before entering the mine, and if any is caught with a dangerous object, he is dismissed immediately. So how could this explosion have been a simple accident? There is more to this than meets the eye, and I can find out what. The only question is – will you work with me, or against me?'

Silence. Mrs. Gibbons stood there, looking up at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Really looking at him, deep into his hard, dark, unfathomable eyes. I knew what she saw there. It was the same thing I had seen there the first day I had crossed paths with this man. The message that was written in stone there for all the world to see.

You want to take me on? Try it, if you enjoy suicide.

'Vengeance?' she asked.

He nodded. 'Vengeance.'

There was another moment of silence – then, taking a deep breath, Mrs. Gibbons lowered her head and curtsied. 'We have an agreement. How may I be of assistance, Mr Ambrose?'

'First of all, I need you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop this nonsense.' With a dismissive gesture, he waved at the people in black. Eyes widened all around. Gentlemen murmured. Ladies gasped. 'Get these people out of here. First comes revenge – then you can waste as much of your time crying as you want.'

'Well, you heard him. Out!'

Outraged whispers rose all around as the lady began herding her guests out of the room. One gentleman's voice rose over the others: '...outrageous! Is there no respect left in the world?'

'I have plenty of respect, Mr Bingham!' Mrs Gibbons retorted, sharply. 'Particularly for my dead husband. Which is why I am going to find out who the hell is responsible for this, and I'm going to grind them into dust! Outside, now!'

Well, well...the two of us really were going to get along well.

In minutes, the salon was empty. For the first time, Mrs Gibbons noticed the rest of our little party: Mr. Baker, sweet little me, and the not-so-sweet-or-little Karim. For a moment, her eyes lingered apprehensively on the latter before returning to Mr Ambrose.

'What now?'

'Now we need something to eat and fresh horses. We've been on the road since early morning to get here, and the mounts we arrived on can't go another step. Who has good horses here in the city?

'There's Albright's stables, and there's Bell's, and Blenkinsopp's. Blenkinsopp's is closest, but–'

'It's Blenkinsopp's, then.'

'But his stable is to the south, quite near the river! If someone were to go there, he might come across those...those...'

She shuddered and glanced out of the window at the flames in the distance. The faraway echo of men chanting and shouting drifted into the room.

'That won't be a problem.' Mr Ambrose snapped his fingers. 'Karim?'

'Yes, Sahib?'

'Get us horses.'

'Yes, Sahib.'

'And, Karim?'

'Yes?'

'If anybody should happen to get in your way...' Mr Ambrose gave the big Mohammedan a long, long look.

'I understand, Sahib.'

So did I. Those poor little striking miners. There were only a few hundred of them. This was so unfair.

'Mr Linton?'

At hearing my name – well, sort of, anyway – I snapped to attention. 'Yes, Sir?'

'Get Mrs Gibbons to show you the kitchen. You and Mr Baker can eat there before we leave.'

'Yes, Sir. And you?'

His face was stark. Looking away, he said, 'I don't need anything.'

'Sir, you should–'

'I said I do not need anything, Mr Linton!'

'Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.'

'Let me know when Karim returns. I shall be in Mr Gibbons's office, reviewing his records. Maybe I shall find a clue there as to what happened here.'

'Yes, Si–'

Before I could finish, he had marched out of the room.

'–r.'

'Dear Lord.' Shaking her head, Mrs Gibbons looked after him. 'I pity the girl who that man sets his sights on.'

'So do I,' I sighed. 'So do I.'

*~*~**~*~*

It was about an hour later when I knocked at the dark wooden door of the late Mr Gibbons's office. There were footsteps, and a moment later, the door swung open, revealing the figure of Rikkard Ambrose looking just as indomitable and hard as ever, and not in the least as if he hadn't eaten or rested for over eight hours.

'It's time,' I told him.

'Did Karim get horses for all of us?'

'What do you think?'

If I were a stable owner and Karim showed up at my door demanding mounts, I would resort to begging my imaginary fairy godmother to turn rats into horses just to get him what he wanted.

'So...we're ready to go.'

'Yes.'

I stood there, waiting. Waiting for Mr Ambrose to say: 'Well, let's go then! Knowledge is power is time is money, Mr Linton.'

But he didn't.

Instead he took a step towards me and said, 'I suppose there's no way I can talk you out of this?'

I shook my head. 'No.'

'I didn't think so.'

He moved so fast I didn't have time to blink. In a flash, he had grabbed me by the arms and pulled me into the empty office. The door slammed shut behind us, and the next moment my back slammed up against it, and he was kissing me. Hard. Fast. Heedless of the consequences. And I was heedless, too. Headless. Mind completely blown. Everything around us vanished, and there was just him, fighting for control of my mouth, and me, fighting back with everything I had.

And then it was over.

Panting, I stared up at him, still pinned to the door. He stared back at me, sea-coloured eyes fierce and cold as ice. 'Stay!'

My answer was just as determined. 'No!'

He was on me again in an instant, his lips reclaiming mine – and mine reclaiming his! The kiss was like an explosion. Fire sizzled through my veins. I could almost feel the ground rocking beneath my feet, so hard did he–

No, wait.

That was the ground rocking beneath my feet. Crap!

'Mmmh!'

I pushed against Mr Ambrose – to no effect whatsoever. There was a rumble, and the earth trembled once again.

'Nnn! Mmmh!'

My fists thudded into his chest – and still not the slightest reaction. Apparently, an earthquake was not important enough for Mr Rikkard Ambrose to interrupt his kissing schedule. And some part of me had to agree. After all, we were in a pretty important meeting right now, conducting significant business...

No! Bad Lilly! Bad Lilly! Think 'Feminist'! Think 'Strong, independent woman'!

Crap, crap, crap. Oh well, if I had to...

How to get Mr Rikkard Ambrose's attention?

Well, there was always one way.

I slipped one hand into his tailcoat. Down it went, and farther down. Beneath my lips, Mr Ambrose uttered a groan. My hand wandered even further down, slipped between two layers of cloth, and –

He stiffened.

'Mr Linton?' His whisper against my lips was hardly audible. But it was cold enough to give a polar bear hypothermia.

'Yes, Sir?'

'Let go of my wallet.'

Slipping my hand out of his tailcoat pocket, I held up the slim leather container and gazed innocently up at him from under my lashes. 'What, this wallet?'

He made a grab for it. Ducking under his arm, I danced out of the way.

'Mr Linton?'

'Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?'

'Give that ba–'

He was interrupted by the sound of the world exploding outside. Red-gold light illuminated the room in a flare worthy of Armageddon.

Our eyes met.

'I think, perhaps, we had better leave.'

'Indeed.'

Taking a deep breath, I tossed him his wallet. He nodded.

'Let's go! Knowledge is power is time is money, Mr Linton.'

Oh, how wonderful that some things never changed.

And how wonderful that some other things do, my tingling lips whispered in silence.

Karim was waiting for us outside. Without a word, we got on our horses and started down the street. Not far ahead, beyond the river, we could see the red glow of the fires. As the darkness of night began to fall around us, it seemed as if we were riding straight into hell.

'Halt! Who goes there?'

And here was Cerberus.

This guard dog, however, didn't have three heads. He had just one, and two arms and legs, and a bright red uniform.

'Sergeant.' Mr Ambrose nodded to the man. 'We'll be crossing the bridge.'

'I'm sorry, Sir.' Stepping sideways so he was right in the middle of the street, the sergeant blocked our way. 'I cannot let ye do that. I've got orders from Corporal Hicks to not let nobody through.'

'I suppose it would be superfluous to point out that if you have orders to not let nobody through that would be a double negative, meaning that, in fact, you had orders to let everybody through?'

The sergeant's honest forehead furrowed. 'Sir?'

'Forget it! Step aside, man. Now!'

'Sorry, Sir. Cannot do that. I've got orders from Corporal Hicks to not let–'

'–nobody through, yes. I heard you the first time.'

'There's miners rioting on the other side of the river, Sir,' the sergeant added, helpfully, clearly hoping that this additional information would finally make the tall gentleman in black see sense.

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. 'Yes. My miners.'

The good sergeant needed a moment or two to process this information. When he had fully understood, his face paled. In the red firelight it looked like cream with strawberries, only a lot less appetising.

'You mean...you are...'

'Yes. Now step aside.'

'Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir!'

I raised my eyebrows as we rode past. 'Pretty impressive.'

'Things can be quite easy when you own half the town, Mr Linton.'

'I'm sure they can, Sir. Just one question...'

'Yes?'

'Is it the half that's burning?'

'Shut up and ride, Mr Linton.'

It didn't take long until the stench of smoke invaded my nostrils. The crackle of flames became louder and louder. Not for the first time, I asked myself whether it would be wise to continue. But whether wise or not – Mr Ambrose was not turning back. So I'd be damned if I chickened out!

Dark shapes shifted in the blackness ahead. Slowly, five men, three armed with pickaxes, the other two with clubs, emerged from the shadows.

'Piss off,' one of the men growled. 'We're on a strike. There ain't no place for fancy tossers like ye here!'

Mr Ambrose gazed down at them from his horse like a king at vermin beneath his feet.

'I am Rikkard Ambrose. Take me to the leader of your rabble.'

The men stiffened. They exchanged long, hard looks – then started towards us, their weapons raised to strike.

Crap!