The Anonymous Amanuensis Read online

  The Anonymous Amanuensis

  A Regency Romance

  By

  Judith B. Glad

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2007

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-042-7

  ISBN 10:1-60174-042-5

  Copyright © 2007 by Judith B. Glad

  Cover art and design © 2007 by Judith B. Glad

  Previously published by Awe-Struck E-Books, 2005

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  For Kat and Star--

  Simply the best daughters anyone could wish for.

  And for Neil, always.

  Prologue

  Elmwood, Yorkshire. October

  "Damn it, Eve, but you are stubborn!"

  Evelyn Dixon smiled into her uncle's angry face. "I am not being stubborn, Chas, merely practical. After all, I said I am willing to look for a position as an instructor of languages in some proper school for young ladies. I have not promised to find one."

  "But you'll not try very hard, if I know you." The tall, weathered gentleman threw himself into a chair and glared at her. "You've this wild idea of being a secretary and you'll spend all your energies seeking a position with some rummy Cit, rather than in a school where you will at least be among people of your own sort."

  "Well, and I tell you that I will not! Any Cit with whom I accept a position will be a model of sobriety. Rummy, indeed!"

  "You know what I meant, Eve. I'd have thought your experience with Alfred, and my father before him, would have shown you how grim a life you would have as a secretary."

  "Oh, believe me, it has. But Grandfather and Uncle Alfred are, I sincerely hope, not typical employers. If they were, there would be no secretaries, for who would accept employment with such curmudgeons?"

  She smiled wryly. "Chas, I have not enjoyed working for either of them, but it has shown me that I have a bent for performing secretarial duties, where I know I do not for teaching. I have not yet succeeded in teaching Lisabet and young Wilfred a single fact, try as I might." A heartfelt sigh escaped her.

  "Ha! How anyone could teach those two wretched brats anything is beyond me. Charlotte has them so spoiled that they pay no mind to anything that does not give them pleasure." He rose and began pacing about the office where Eve sat behind a desk littered with papers and account books. The desk and chair covered most of the floor, so his pacing was necessarily confined to a small space.

  "Be that as it may," he said, leaning across the desk after a few moments, "you must know that acting as a secretary to some merchant is not the sort of life for a gently bred young woman."

  "But I am not a 'gently bred young woman.' As my uncle is so fond of reminding me, my mother was a peasant. And as Charlotte keeps me aware of, I am only here on sufferance, for my inheritance is barely enough to keep clothes on my back and food in my mouth." She grimaced. "Oh, Chas, can you not see I must be away from here? I cannot stand much more of Alfred's reminders of my father's improvidence, nor of Charlotte's whining that I do not earn my keep."

  "Yes, yes. You are miserable here, I can see. But that is no excuse for haring off to London to seek employment." Chas sat on the corner of her desk and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Come, my dear, do not ask me to do this."

  "I must. With a letter from you, telling how well I perform my duties, I have a much better chance of finding the sort of employment for which I am suited. Please, Chas. Write the letter."

  "Damn your stubbornness! Very well, I will, but I hope we will not both come to regret it. Give me paper."

  Eve relinquished her place at the desk. As Chas bent over the paper, thinking, brushing the tip of his nose with the quill, she watched him. How much better her uncle looked than he had those five months ago when he was carried into Elmwood, covered with bandages, white of face, and looking near death. And now he was about to return to duty.

  She prayed that he would come through the war unscathed. If he were to be killed, there would be no one left in the world who loved her. But Chas could be of no more help to her than her father, dead these five years. The youngest of four sons, he had no fortune of his own and certainly could not support a nearly destitute female.

  Eve enjoyed her secretarial duties. Some of the Hadley wealth came from investments in the West Indies, and she enjoyed the correspondence with Sir Alfred's agents there. What she minded was the lack of gratitude, Alfred's assumption that she should be grateful that he provided her with a way to earn her keep.

  Her keep, indeed! Her only new gowns in the past five years had been purchased out of her own meager inheritance. Charlotte's frequent and snide comments about her healthy appetite showed that she was begrudged even the food she ate.

  "There, for what it's worth," Chas said, pushing a sheet of paper across the desk to her. She picked it up and read the letter her uncle had written.

  To Whom It May Concern:

  May I introduce my niece, Evelyn Dixon, as an honest and competent secretary. For the past five years, Miss Dixon has acted as amanuensis to Sir Wilfred Hadley, my late father. Her duties included correspondence with Sir Wilfred's agents in the West Indies and in Scotland, maintenance of the estate accounts, and management of the household budget. She writes a legible hand, is knowledgeable about estate management, and is capable of translating correspondence into Italian, French, German, and Dutch. I ask that you give her application for a position careful consideration.

  Your servant,

  Major Charles Hadley

  Eve laid the letter back on the desk, uncertain what to say.

  "What's the matter, Eve? Don't you like it?"

  "Yes and no, Chas. It is an excellent letter, but I am not sure you ought to claim me as your niece. You are bound to be thought prejudiced on my behalf. Perhaps you might rewrite it, make it more impersonal?"

  Chas took the letter back and reread it. "I suppose you are in the right of it, Eve, though it galls me not to claim you as my relation." He again bent over the desk, writing. Soon he pushed a second sheet of paper across to her. This time Eve smiled as she finished reading it. Impersonal it was. There was no mention of her relationship to him or of her sex, just two short sentences describing her duties and her experience, a third listing her unusual linguistic skills.

  "Very good, Chas. This should do the trick." She folded the letter and placed it in a portfolio. "Shall we ride before dinner, as usual?"

  "Might as well. It'll be our last chance until I return from the Peninsula. I want to get an early start for London tomorrow so I can see some friends before I head overseas."

  Chapter One

  London. December

  "My dear young lady, no one would hire a female as a secretary. Why, the fairer sex is too emotional, too flighty for such a position of responsibility. No mere woman possesses the intelligence for such demanding work. Is there nothing else you might be suited for?"

  "I could teach languages, sir, but I would prefer not to have to do so," she replied, hoping she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. This was the third registry office she had visited. There were only two
more on her list.

  "And why not?"

  "I have little patience with children, particularly those who have no interest in learning. On the other hand, I have five years' experience as a secretary to Sir Wilfred Hadley and he seemed pleased with my work. If you will only read this reference, you will see."

  The man grudgingly took Chas' letter and read it. Returning it to Eve, he said, "That's all very well, Miss Dixon, but it does not change the fact that no gentleman, no, nor any merchant, would trust a woman with his business affairs. You would be much better off as a teacher. Or a governess or companion."

  "Then you will not help me find employment, sir?"

  "Not as a secretary. And I have no requests for teachers at present. You would do much better to consider going as a governess. The school terms are barely half over, and few openings for teachers are likely just now." He frowned at Eve's moue of distaste. "Come back in two or three months."

  Eve thanked him and left, disappointed but not entirely without hope. She was still determined to be a secretary. She decided to write letters of inquiry to all the merchants and traders whose directions she could discover.

  Two months later, Eve's funds and her patience were both much reduced. Laughter, scorn, or improper advances had been the responses at each of the interviews she had had with City merchants and traders. No requests for language teachers had been received by any of the seven registry offices to which she had applied.

  She had made some friends, but had little in common with most of the young women at the ladies' boarding house where she had a small room under the eaves. Only her friendship with Thomas Patterson was really close, and Eve was not sure if it was truly proper to be friends with a young man. But without Tom, her existence in London would be so lonely that she would not be able to stand it.

  Eve met Tom Patterson at Marten's registry office during the second week of her stay in Town. The cheerful young man was delivering a request for a chambermaid to the agency where Eve had just concluded another fruitless interview. The two struck up a conversation as they walked down the stairs together and discovered a mutual liking.

  Tom, a younger son with noble connections, had dreams of someday standing for Parliament. In the meantime, he was employed by Lord Arduin, a prominent member of His Majesty's government. He was as lonely in London as Eve. They fell into the habit of taking supper together on his free evenings, or attending plays or the opera when Lord Arduin gave him tickets.

  Tom was a carefree spirit. He frequently made absurd suggestions for their activities. Once he tried to convince her that they should take a ride on a steamship. Another time he convinced her to don borrowed trousers and coat for a tour of an iron mongery. There was a serious side to him as well. The two of them often indulged in long philosophical discussions as they wandered the streets of the West End together.

  Eve finally admitted to herself that she would have to take a poorly paid position in a shop or crawl back to Elmwood and grovel before Alfred and Charlotte. She very much feared the alternative might be starvation, for she refused to sell the few remaining pieces of her mother's jewelry. That same day, Tom imparted some information that gave her one last bit of hope.

  "It's really too bad, Eve, that you are female, for I know he would never engage your services. Otherwise you are completely qualified for the position."

  "I beg your pardon, Tom," Eve said. "I was woolgathering. What did you say? What position?"

  "I was telling you about a secretarial position for which you are perfectly suited. I would be tempted to apply myself if I had the peculiar combination of skills that it requires. Mr. Quinton strikes me as being a most liberal employer." Tom leaned his chair back against the wall behind him and patted his waistcoat. "I fear I have eaten overmuch. But the cook here does concoct a delicious ragout of beef."

  "Tom, you impossible boy! Who is Mr. Quinton and what is this position for which I am so suited?" Eve eyed him with exasperation. Sometimes his teasing ways maddened her.

  "Mr. James Quinton engages in the spice and silk trades. I am somewhat acquainted with his present secretary who is resigning his position to take a post in India. According to Alan, Mr. Quinton is growing somewhat concerned about being able to find a replacement."

  Eve took a last bite of her juicy pear and wiped the stickiness from her fingers. "There seems to be no shortage in London of young men qualified as secretaries. Why should this Mr. Quinton have a problem?"

  "Because he requires that his secretary be able to translate his correspondence into Dutch and Italian, for you know that those countries are still the centers of the spice and silk trades. Quinton is constrained to use foreign agents for much of his business, due to the unsettled situation on the Continent. Alan said the volume of his correspondence is great and much of it is in those languages. It is really unfortunate that you are female."

  "It is unfair, not unfortunate!" Eve had taken stock of her resources just that day and realized she had only enough money for a few more weeks at the boarding house. "Is there no chance he might overlook my sex?"

  "I doubt it. He is said to be a most proper gentleman. He's the heir to the Earl of Seabrooke, you know." Tom sipped the port the waiter had brought to their cleared table. "I understand he holds females in the greatest dislike; won't even have a housekeeper. Alan believes it is because of his mother, whom he detests."

  "How unnatural. He must be a most unlikable person."

  "As to that, I cannot say. He pays very well, as well as providing extremely comfortable lodgings. But he is a sober sort, and has always treated Alan with the greatest formality. But come, Eve, why do we speak of this, since it can only depress you?"

  Eve waited while Tom finished his port, then walked silently beside him through the busy streets as he escorted her back to her lodgings. She was beyond depressed, for he had held out to her the position she dreamed of only to snatch it away. Her good night to him was subdued.

  Sleep was long in coming that night. She could return to Elmwood, but would have to abase herself, to beg Charlotte's forgiveness. And Alfred--he would feed her a large helping of humble pie.

  Once at Elmwood, she would never, never be able to break away again.

  Of course, she could always go as a shop girl, as did many of the young women who shared the boarding house. But they were pretty girls who could charm customers into spending their money. Would Eve, with her rather masculine looks and thin, almost spare figure, be able to charm anyone? She doubted it.

  The night was pitch black when she awoke from her troubled sleep. From the relative quiet, it must have been very late. A dream had come to her, one in which all her problems had been solved, but she could not remember it. She lay quietly, trying to recapture the vision. Something had been different about her appearance, but what?

  Finally she recalled the substance of the dream. She had been walking with Tom along the serpentine, two young men taking the air together. She could still feel the peculiar sensation of having her legs clad in trousers, the constriction of a cravat about her neck.

  Eve sat up in her bed, staring into darkness. Could she?

  Unthinkable!

  Where would she obtain the garments, and how could she carry off such a masquerade?

  She fumbled to light her candle. Carrying it to the small mirror over the commode, she stared at her face in the dim light. The features she had always deplored as being too harsh and unfeminine were reflected back into her eyes. With her hair cut short, she would look like a young man, she was sure. Dipping her fingers into the ewer, she used it to smooth her wiry hair against her head. Yes, if her hair were to be cut very short, her face would lose what little aspect of femininity it possessed.

  Shivering, Eve climbed back into her bed and extinguished the candle. Perhaps. Just perhaps she could do it.

  * * * *

  "That young man of yours is here again, Eve," the landlady called.

  "Good. Please tell him I will be down immediately, Mrs.
Storridge," Eve replied. She ran into her room to get her pelisse, before hurrying down the stairs. What a day this had been, waiting for Tom answer her summons.

  Mrs. Storridge stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms akimbo. "Well, and when is he going to offer for you, that's what I'd like to know," she said sternly, as Eve rounded the newel post. "He's been hanging about you for nearly two months now and should have made up his mind by now."

  "Mrs. Storridge, Tom and I are just friends. I do not want a husband--I want a position."

  "Well, and you're not having much luck are you? Take my advice, Eve, and look about you for a husband. 'Tisn't natural for a young lady like yourself to be unwed. Now, you be in by eight o'clock, mind. Friend or no, I don't want that young man keeping you out too late."

  "I promise," Eve answered with a laugh. She pulled on her pelisse and hurried through the door. Tom was standing on the stoop, waiting for her. She took his arm and they walked into the busy street.

  "I got your note but could not get away before this. What is so urgent, Eve, that you wrote to me at Lord Arduin's?"

  "Oh, Tom," she said, "I have had the most wonderful idea. But I will need your help."

  "You have it, but how can I help you?" Tom was clearly mystified.

  "You can purchase some clothing for me. Trousers, a waistcoat, shirts...I have not the slightest idea of what to buy, nor where to purchase it. And I could never do so if I did. I will give you the money, if you will only tell me how much you need, and I have my measurements right here..." She dug into her reticule.

  "Whoa, there, Eve. What's wrong with the garments you borrowed from me before?"

  "They will not do. I had to hike the trousers up under my armpits, and the coat fit me no better than a horse blanket." Once again she tendered the slip of paper.

  "First you must tell me why you need the clothing. What wild start are you up to?"

  "I awoke in the middle of the night with the solution, Tom. I shall apply for the position as Mr. Quinton's secretary, but I shall do it as a man."