The Anonymous Amanuensis Page 10

  "Oh! Oh, you beast!"

  Before her slap could reach its mark, Eve caught her by the wrist. "Do not, Penny. I am larger and stronger than you, and not averse to returning any blow you land."

  Penny wrenched her hand free and ran down the hall.

  Following, Eve saw that she slowed her headlong rush before entering the parlor. When she joined the other young people, she appeared calm, although her color was still high.

  By the time the party broke up, Eve was thoroughly disgusted with both the Oatlands and the Thompsons and their snobbish pretensions to gentility. Penny's behavior had been somewhat restrained for the remainder of the evening. She went to her bed quietly, without complaining to her brother of Eve's high-handed tactics.

  * * * *

  Penny had, as evidenced by her comments at breakfast the next morning, developed a tremendous awe of both Miss Oatland and the elder Mr. Thompson. The former she thought incredibly sophisticated, the latter breathtakingly handsome.

  "I vow, Jamie, Miss Oatland seems up to every rig and tow in town. She went to so many ton parties and she met so many people of exalted rank. Why I was terribly impressed at her adventures. Did you know she attended a ball at Vauxhall Gardens with the son of an earl? And Mr. Thompson has even met the Prime Minister. Is that not marvelous? He will be working in the Home Office, you know, in a very important position."

  She cast a sidelong glance at Eve. "Why he is hardly older than Mr. Dixon and already he has gone far beyond the level of a mere secretary. And his dress was all that was elegant. I was quite taken with his red and white striped waistcoat and his lavender coat. Why do you never dress so well, Jamie?"

  Not waiting for a reply, she babbled on. "He told me that his cravat was tied in the 'Mathematical', a style much favored by the leaders of the Corinthian set. Is that not delightful?"

  Quinton curtly told his sister to put a damper on it. "You cannot take either Miss Oatland or Mr. Thompson as representative of Society. The girl was the laughing stock of St. James Street, so industriously did she pursue a husband during the Season. I take it that she did not mention that Vauxhall Gardens are known for the riffraff they attract."

  Riffraff? Surely not! Many of those I saw there that night appeared perfectly reputable. Then Eve thought of some of the others she had seen that night, and decided that perhaps Vauxhall was not the most appropriate entertainment for a respectable young woman after all. But I enjoyed myself, nonetheless.

  "Young Thompson's post, no matter what he told you, commands neither the responsibilities nor the salary that Eve's does. As for his clothing, only those dandies who are totally lacking good taste will dress as he does. I would not be seen in anything so outré as a red and white striped waistcoat, and his cravat was the poorest attempt at a 'Mathematical' I have ever seen." Quinton sat back and eyed his sister. "Have I covered all your comments, Penny?"

  "You are hateful!" Penny cried, slamming her teacup into its saucer. "You said you wished me to meet other young people and when I do, and express admiration for them, you make derisive comments. Just because Mr. Thompson was more elegant and better mannered than your precious Mr. Dixon, you hold him up to ridicule."

  "And you, my dear sister, are totally wanting in manners. If you do indeed wish to make your comeout in less than a year, you will do well to mend your ways." He emphasized with a shaking finger, "And learn to tell the difference between persons of quality and those who merely ape them."

  "Your brother is in the right, Miss Penelope," Miss Comstock put in before Penny could speak the angry words that seemed ready to spill from her mouth. "Both Miss Oatland and Mr. Thompson, and indeed, their entire families, showed a sad lack of polish and gentility. They are not at all the sort you will wish to cultivate, I am sure."

  "Then why were they invited?" Penny challenged.

  "Because, you nitwit, they are my neighbors. I could not exclude them, nor would I wish to. Sir William and I are involved in business dealings. Furthermore, there are only two families nearby who have children your age." Quinton tossed his napkin on the table as he rose. "Finish your breakfast Eve. The day is wasting"

  Eve was swallowing the last of her toast when he leaned back inside the breakfast room. "I will do my best to introduce you to people more of our own sort, Penny, but until then, I wish you to be polite to the Oatlands and the Thompsons. I do not want you to become fast friends with them."

  "Snob!" Penny accused.

  "As you will. But you will obey me or return to Seabrooke. Do you understand?"

  Penny gave an angry nod as Eve followed her brother from the room. When the door closed behind them, she burst into tears. Miss Comstock hurried to her side, to offer pats of consolation, sniffs of smelling salts, and murmurs of commiseration. Eventually Penny regained control and brought her wild sobs came to a hiccupping stop.

  "Oh, Comsie, why can I do nothing right any more?" she cried, wiping the tears from hot cheeks. "Jamie has taken me in detestation and Mr. Dixon hates me!"

  "Hush, Penelope. You are simply overly tired after last night's excitement. Come with me and we will bathe your cheeks and put lavender water compresses upon your eyes."

  Penny followed, wondering why Miss Comstock's sympathy seemed forced.

  Once Penny was resting quietly, the older woman seated herself beside the bed and took Penny's hand. "My dearest Penelope," she said, "do you not see that your behavior is giving your brother a disgust of you?"

  "But he is so cruel, so coldhearted!"

  "He is neither. Mr. Quinton is a generous brother who adores you. But you must understand that he has little patience with females who are willful and who throw tantrums."

  "I do not--"

  "You did. And it is not the first time you have given him a disgust of your behavior. I do not know what happened some days past to overset you, but for some time you were irritable and moody, quite difficult to live with." Gently she removed the damp cloth from Penny's eyes, dipped it in cool water, squeezed and replaced it.

  "You know that Mr. Quinton holds his mother in the greatest detestation. If your behavior should remind him of hers, what do you suppose the result will be?"

  "I am not mean and selfish like her!" Penny protested.

  "Of course you are not. You are in no manner like your mother, as I who know and love you am fully aware. But my dear, Mr. Quinton does not know you yet. He only sees that you are acting in a spoiled, willful manner, flouting his wishes and ignoring his good advice."

  "Well, I do not mean to do so," Penny said as she sat up, pulling the compress from her eyes. "Oh, Comsie, I would do anything to please Jamie. You must know that. But he is being so strict and stern."

  "So it must seem to you. Perhaps some of his strictness is because he is exceedingly distressed by your recent behavior."

  "He cannot love me! He always seems so...so angry!"

  "I do not think he knows of any other way to behave when faced with feminine hysteria and vapors." She patted the girl's hand. "Now, I suggest you rest a bit, then go out for a ride. The fresh air will do you good."

  She pulled a light quilt over Penny. "Do think about what I have told you."

  Chapter Nine

  Several days after the dinner party at Fallowfeld, a note came from Lady Oatland inviting Penny to accompany her family to an assembly to be held at Colchester the following week. As it was addressed to Quinton, Eve opened it. Not knowing how her employer would wish to respond, Eve put it in the pile of letters she had prepared for his signature. She was aware when, later that afternoon, he came to the invitation.

  "The Devil!" he exclaimed.

  "Sir?"

  "I have here an invitation...But you know what it is, Eve. You have read it?"

  "Yes sir, but I was not sure how to answer it. Do you not wish Penny to go with them?"

  "Not really. You heard what I said to her. Although the parents are good enough people--Sir William is a fine farmer and a good neighbor--those offspring of theirs are as
silly a pair as I have seen. I had hoped, before I had the dubious pleasure of observing her for an evening, that Miss Oatland would be a friend to Penny, for my sister needs friends of her own age and sex."

  Nodding, Eve kept silent. She believed that had Penny more friends, she would not have seen Eve in such a romantic light.

  "But I do not want Penny to turn into an artificially mannered and pretentious chit like Miss Oatland. Nor do I want her to develop a tendre for the likes of the Thompson sprig. Putting on airs as if he were about to become Prime Minister. 'A post in the Government,' indeed!" Quinton snorted his disgust.

  "I think you should allow Penny to go to the Assembly," Eve said quietly.

  "You are out of your mind!" Quinton stared at her, plainly confounded.

  "Perhaps." She leaned forward over her desk and caught his eye. "Mr. Quinton, how is Penny ever to learn to tell gold from gilt if she has no experience with the latter? She is, beneath her lively nature, an extremely sensible girl. But she is young, inexperienced in judging people, and eager to taste the excitement of growing up."

  The closed expression on his face did not encourage Eve. Determined he should hear what she was saying, she took a deep breath and went on. "You said yourself that the elder Oatlands are good people. I cannot believe they would allow Penny to come to harm at a public dance. And Miss Oatland, full though she now is with her own importance, is probably at heart as good and sensible a woman as her mother. But even were she not, one evening in her company will not spoil Penny for life."

  The cold, distant expression did not leave Quinton's face, so Eve returned her attention to the papers on her desk. She had done all she could to help Penny.

  Quinton did not reply, but he also did not at once return to his correspondence. Eve hoped he was giving her words some thought. Certainly he seemed to be considering something, for his eyes gazed into the distance.

  Have I made him angry with me again? I hope not. He must allow Penny to go to the Assembly. It will be just the thing to bring her out of her sulks. How I wish I could go with them.

  In her mind she saw herself, clad in a gown of bronze satin, her hair grown out and gathered in a knot on her head with wavy tendrils falling to her bare shoulders. Her mother's amber and gold set decorated her throat and wrists, she carried a posy of yellow roses and asparagus fern in a gilt holder. A gentleman bowed before her, then took her into his arms for the waltz. A red haired gentleman, who held her closer than propriety allowed and who smiled lovingly into her eyes. As they whirled about the ballroom, all eyes were upon them, envying them their so evident love for one another.

  Eve suddenly became conscious of tears stinging her eyes and a tightness in her throat. She pulled herself from her daydream and glanced quickly toward Quinton. Fortunately, he was deep in his correspondence, so she was able to dash the back of her hand across her eyes. She picked up yesterday's Gazette and turned to the shipping notices. Her flaming face thus hidden from Quinton, she took several deep breaths and attempted to regain her mental equilibrium.

  Fool! Stop this nonsense. You have made your choice. You will never, never waltz with him, for he must never learn of your deception. And with that mental scolding, she resolutely turned her thoughts to the shipping notices. For some reason, they held her less in fascination than usual.

  * * * *

  "Penny, I have received an invitation for you to attend the Assembly at Colchester with Sir William and Lady Oatland," Quinton said at dinner the next evening. "Would you wish to go?"

  "Would I wish to...Oh, Jamie, I would love to go! But you said...I mean, you told me..." She stared at her brother in apparent amazement. As if remembering that she was angry with him, she drew a deep breath and continued in a lofty manner, "You told me, sir, that I was not to engage in a friendship with Miss Oatland. Have you then changed your mind?"

  "Stubble it, brat! Spending an evening in her company is not becoming her bosom bow. Well? How would you like for me to respond?"

  Penny burst from her chair and ran around the table to throw her arms around her brother. "Oh! You are the best of brothers! Of course you must accept with pleasure. But Jamie, I haven't anything to wear! Only this old muslin!"

  As the pale yellow gown she referred to had been completed only the previous week, Quinton was less than sympathetic to her lack of suitable dress. He pulled her arms from his neck and gave her a push in the direction of her seat at the table. "Go and finish your dinner, Penny. I can't see that there's anything wrong with your gown. It seems suitable for a chit of your years."

  Before Penny could retort, Miss Comstock intervened. "Miss Penelope, your white muslin would be the most suitably attire for a provincial Assembly."

  "But it's so plain! And it's muslin! Should I not have an evening gown?" She pouted.

  "My dear little sister, that is an evening gown. There is not a young lady in London who would be ashamed to wear it. Very young misses do not bedeck themselves in satins or taffetas."

  "Well," Penny said, not entirely convinced, "Miss Oatland was wearing satin the night they came here."

  "And should not have been. It didn't become her. But she is engaged, and may wear somewhat more sophisticated clothing. Or at least that's the way I understand the rule."

  "I believe you are in the right of it Mr. Quinton," Miss Comstock agreed. To Penny she said, "Society has many very rigid unwritten rules and it behooves a proper young lady to obey them. It has been decreed that young girls not yet out must dress in pastel colors and eschew the more opulent fabrics. Your muslin is quite correct. We could, though, add some decoration at sleeves and hem to make it a bit more festive."

  "Oh, yes, let us do so. Jamie, dear, may we go to Colchester tomorrow to purchase some velvet ribbon. Please!" Penny said, smiling winningly at Quinton.

  "You may go to the village tomorrow. I'll not have my cattle run to Colchester for something so easily obtained nearby. Go to the village for your ribbons."

  "Yes, indeed there is quite a fine selection at the haberdashery in the village," Miss Comstock said.

  Penny again pouted, but did not argue.

  Eve had stayed out of the conversation, gratified that Quinton had decided to allow Penny to go to the Assembly. She was aware of an ache somewhere in the middle of her chest as she listened to the discussion that ensued, between Miss Comstock and her charge, as to whether velvet or satin ribbons would best suit the muslin gown and whether Penny's white kid slippers would be suitable for an evening's dancing.

  As soon as the ladies left the dining room, she begged Quinton to excuse her to her bedchamber, pleading restless interrupted sleep the night before. But the truth was she could not bear to hear any more of Penny's enthusiasm for her first public dance. Eve had never gone dancing.

  The lumps in her mattress had grown and reproduced since the night before, she discovered as she tried to find a comfortable position. And her pillow--had the feathers somehow turned to pebbles the size of goose eggs? She gave the offending item several hearty punches, then discovered she could not stop pounding at it.

  Again and again her fists drove into the unresisting bag of feathers until she felt herself panting and heard a voice crying, "It is not fair! It is not fair!" over and over again. It was her voice, she suddenly realized. And the poor pillow--she had punished it so cruelly that one seam had split and fluffy bits of goose down were floating about the room.

  "Oh, my! What a mess." She hopped out of the bed and began chasing the feathers. The slight breeze from her movements stirred the air in the room enough that even more of the fluffy bits had joined their fellows in a wild coruscating dance. Distracted, she stood in the center of the room, watching. Finally one drifting feather encountered the candle's flame. A flare, then the smell. Eve, all at once, became aware of the effectiveness of burnt feathers to bring one out of giddiness, and her wits returned to her. Ignoring the feathers still drifting lightly around her, she extinguished the candle and crawled into bed, coming to rest against
the hard, carved headboard.

  "It is not fair but, as Papa used to say, who ever promised me that life should be fair? No, one, of course," she whispered. "I wanted to be a secretary and I have succeeded. I enjoy what I am doing. James...Mr. Quinton says I am very good at it. So I should be very happy. But I am not!"

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Gazing into the dying fire, she said aloud, but very softly, "Eve Dixon, you are indulging in romantic fancy. Even if he knew you were female, James--No, I must never call him that! Mr. Quinton--would never give you a second glance. You are neither beautiful nor voluptuous like Miss Foggett. Stop crying for the moon! You would not know what to do with it if it were sitting in your lap this moment." With this very practical advice to herself, Eve squirmed under the quilts and hugged her leaking and much diminished pillow.

  "Go to sleep, you great, stupid secretary!"

  * * * *

  Penny and Miss Comstock went to Colchester with the Oatlands the day before the Assembly so that the ladies would have time to explore the shops and sample the dissipations of the city before their evening of dancing. The party would remain in town until the day after, putting up at one of the better hostelries. Quinton had commented to Eve that he hoped Lady Oatland would be able to endure Penny's high spirits better than he, for he was thoroughly exhausted by her boundless enthusiasm. He did admit her present mood was preferable to the languishing and sighs they had all been forced to endure after Eve had rejected her affections.

  Fallowfeld was unusually quiet after Penny and Miss Comstock departed in the Oatland carriage. At dinner that night, both Eve and Quinton found little to say and, by unspoken mutual agreement, both retired to their chambers after a single glass of port.

  The depression that had held Eve in its clutches for the past week had not departed. She was able to put it aside while performing her duties, but when alone and unoccupied, she found that it was nigh overwhelming.