The Anonymous Amanuensis Read online

  Her employer confessed his early amazement at the seaman's instinctive understanding of the principles of trade and his extensive knowledge of the cargoes to be had at most of the world's principal ports.

  "I called him to London about a year ago, thinking he would serve me well. And he has. The captains respect his understanding of their problems, the other clerks look to him for his instinct for sellable commodities and his knowledge of ports around the world."

  Eve found Mosely fascinating, once she recovered from her first impression of the man as resembling a vicious old pirate. Behind the creased and weathered visage was a lively mind filled with tales of peoples and places all over the world. Often, if Tom Patterson was otherwise occupied on Wednesdays, Eve's steps trended toward the docks and Mosely's aerie on an upper floor of Quinton's largest warehouse. There the two of them, the scarred and twisted ex-seaman and the young woman masquerading as a man, spent many a happy hour talking of the lands across the seas from England.

  Quinton had, after the evening spent discussing poetry and literature with Eve, unbent somewhat. Still grave most of the time, he nonetheless became more paternally friendly toward his secretary. They usually dined together on the infrequent occasions when he had no evening engagement. Their table conversation ranged from good-natured arguments concerning the role of government in trade, through deep discussions of philosophy to gossip about the ton.

  Eve felt that some regulation of ports was necessary while Quinton wished all Excisemen to the Devil. Quinton admired the Scotsman, Hume, and thought his philosophies profound, while Eve was more conventional in her metaphysical beliefs. And Eve listened avidly to Quinton's relation of the latest on dits with bated breath.

  As they grew easy with one another, Eve and Quinton gradually moved into an intimacy such as is common among masculine friends. Her employer rarely dipped deeply into the port or the brandy during their evenings together. When one night he chose to partake of a second, then third glass of port after dinner, Eve was shocked.

  "You are not keeping me company, Eve," Quinton protested, as she covered her glass with her palm to prevent his refilling it a third time. "And your sobriety reproaches me."

  "I do not mean it should do so, sir," she said, "but you must have realized by now that I do not have your capacity for drink. Besides, my employer demands that I appear in the morning with a clear head." She grinned at him.

  Quinton's lips twitched, but he did not respond with the hoped-for smile. "Ah, Eve. To be so young and free from care as you." He sipped his wine. "Know you of the Cyprians' Ball, youngling?"

  "I have heard of it, yes. I understand it is an annual affair, but know little else of it." She rather suspected who patronized the fete, but could not suppress a tickle of curiosity about it.

  "Held by and for the barques of frailty with whom we gentlemen of the ton amuse ourselves. It is, in its own way, as exclusive an event as any Society ball. Invitations to it are coveted dearly by those of the demimonde who aspire to a rich and titled keeper." He snorted, an expression of derision on his face. "Prudence wished to attend and I have refused to escort her."

  "Prudence, sir?"

  "Eve, that is at least the twenty-third time you have called me 'sir' this evening. You are not my servant, but an employee and, I hope, a friend. My name is James, you know--at least outside of our business relationship."

  "Yes sir...I mean, James. I shall strive to remember. Only it seems discourteous, somehow, to call my employer by his given name."

  "Your manners are correct to a fault, but sometimes overly nice. A young lady of your years might be overstepping the bounds of propriety to use my given name, but between men such informality is not unseemly. And though I know you do not do it to flatter me, as many of my clerks do, I continue to dislike your excessive use of the word, sir. It reeks of servility. You should strive to emulate that rascal, Mosely."

  "I doubt sir--ah, James--if I will ever call you 'Jamie' as does Mosely. And 'Your Nibs' is somehow not my style. I shall strive for 'James' at least half the time, if you will settle for 'sir' the other half."

  Again Quinton's lips twitched, this time more dramatically. "Impudent brat! I warn you, though, if your 'sirs' exceed your 'Jameses' in any day, I shall take my revenge. Here, now, your glass is empty." He filled Eve's glass before she could protest, then drained the remainder of the bottle into his own. "Ring for Bartlett, Eve, that's a good lad. I have sorrows to drown."

  Eve did as she was bid, not wishing to frustrate her employer, yet hoping he would not broach the second bottle. In an attempt to distract him, she asked, "You said Prudence wished you to escort her to the Cyprians' Ball, James. Who is Prudence? Or should I not ask?"

  "Prudence," Quinton mused, staring into his port. "Prudence Foggett--what an outlandish and inappropriate name for one of nature's works of art--is at once the bane and the reward of my existence. She is my mistress." This time his lips more than twitched and Eve was treated to the first smile she had seen on the face of her employer. But she did not like the expression, for it was lascivious rather than kindly, giving the pale, saturnine face a feral, predatory look.

  Not knowing what she should say, Eve sat silent. How, she wondered, would a man respond to such a comment? The silence lengthened, uncomfortably so to Eve, although Quinton seemed content to be lost in his own recollections. Finally he returned to the present.

  "Do you know, Eve, I have no knowledge of what you do for manly recreation. D'you visit a bordello? Or have you a woman of your own?"

  Eve was thrown into confusion. The color rose in her cheeks as she sought the words to reply to Quinton's question. He saw her confusion, but mistook it for youthful embarrassment.

  "Ah, lad, don't let me embarrass you. It is none of my affair how you take your pleasures."

  "It is not that. It is just that I have not...I do not...Oh, confound it sir, what I mean is that I am as yet inexperienced in such things."

  "Unfledged, are you? How does that come to pass? Most boys have managed to satisfy both their curiosity and their urges by ten and six or thereabouts."

  "I just never found the opportunity, I suppose," Eve said, hoping he would be satisfied and go on to another topic. But, slightly well to go, Quinton was fixed on the subject at hand.

  "Nonsense! Even that priggish brother of Chas' must have had a dairymaid or tweeny who was not entirely uncomely. I am 'mazed you found no opportunity for a bit of slap and tickle behind the barn. You're not a shy lad, Eve."

  Taking a large swallow of port to conceal her distress, Eve choked. When Quinton had done with pounding her back and she with coughing, she sought the words to reply to his implied criticism. He was making it seem as if she should be ashamed of her virginity, yet if he were to discover her to be female, he would expect her to be untouched.

  Overcome by momentary anger at the inequities extant between the sexes, she almost spoke her mind, but stopped herself before she blurted out a verbal indiscretion. Holding her wits about her, she met her employer's eyes with a long, level stare.

  "Mr. Quinton, I hope I do not insult you by saying that my sexual activities are none of your business. I may be lacking in experience, but it is by my choice, I assure you. And I do not feel it is your place, even as my employer, to criticize me for making that choice."

  "Indeed! I beg your pardon," Quinton began, his injured sensibilities evident in his frosty tone.

  "Oh, sir, please!" Eve interrupted. "I meant no insult, truly I did not!" Having had time to realize just how imprudently she had spoken, how she must choose her next words very carefully, she spoke slowly and distinctly. The wine she had consumed made the latter difficult. "I abstained more from cowardice than lack of desire, you know."

  Putting a note of regret in her voice, she went on, "There was a maid, but she was in the kitchen, not the dairy, who seemed to look favorably upon me when I first came to Sir Wilfred's" Well it was the truth. Sally had been friendly when Eve arrived at Elmwood. "But my o
wn fears kept me from taking advantage of her interest, even as I wished I had the daring to do otherwise."

  Clearing her throat, lest the lie catch in it, Eve went on. "I believe I might be less hesitant now, should a similar situation arise. Under the present circumstances, though, I have little opportunity to encounter females, and am reluctant to visit a bordello." She hoped he would not offer to find a means of enabling her to met females of the appropriate persuasion and, indeed, he did not, lapsing into silence as he poured still another glass of port.

  His mood turned morose shortly thereafter, and soon Eve begged his leave to retire, pleading sleepiness.

  In truth, she wanted to be alone, with time to think of the inexplicable manner in which his earlier friendliness had affected her.

  Surely she was not attracted to her employer.

  Of course not!

  Chapter Four

  Feeling that mention of the previous evening's conversation would only cause her more embarrassment, Eve greeted her employer the next morning with a cheery smile and a comment on the clemency of the spring weather. But his severe expression and distant manners were back again, so she felt somewhat rebuffed. Quinton continued to be withdrawn for several days and Eve was certain she had offended him after all.

  Aside from her distress at having the relationship between herself and Quinton on a less than cordial basis, she found she missed his touch. He had, since their first evening of friendly conversation, taken to placing his hand on her shoulder as he leaned over her and to give instructions as to how to reply to a letter or to handle a problem. The first time he did it, she stiffened, not being used to such familiarity from a man. But she quickly reminded herself that, to him, she was another male and that the gesture did not constitute undue familiarity. In the weeks since he had first touched her, she had grown to like the friendly gesture.

  Eve continued to be distressed over Quinton's withdrawal but did not know what do to about it. When her Wednesday half-holiday arrived, she took her troubles to Mosely.

  "'Ere, laddy, what's eating at ye? Nary a smile since you climbed up here, and a long face enough to fright a 'obgoblin!"

  "I'm blue-deviled, Mr. Mosely," Eve said. "Mr. Quinton had been unusually silent and cool these past few days and I have been worried that I have offended him."

  "What d'ye do to get 'is goat? Can't see ye being sassy to 'Is Nibs," the unlikely clerk replied.

  "Well, he might have seen it as impertinence. But I did not feel it was any of his concern," Eve said, slowly. "Oh, Mr. Mosely, I need your advice!" She recounted the very personal conversation she had had with her employer.

  "Can't say as I blame ye, telling 'im off like ye did. "Twasn't any of 'is business. "Course, 'e's probably feeling bad that 'e poked 'is nose where it wasn't wanted and don't 'ave no idea 'ow to apologize. Cheer up, laddy. 'E'll come around soon, pretending as 'ow nothing ever 'appened. 'Is Nibs ain't one to 'old a grudge, but 'e also ain't one as knows 'ow to admit 'e was in the wrong."

  "Are you sure, Mr. Mosely? Perhaps if I apologized..."

  "Don't ye go doing no such thing. 'Twas 'im in the wrong. Leave 'im alone. An' ye get yerself a smile on yer face. 'Ere 'tis, spring and all, and ye're sittin' around like it was still winter. 'Owcum ye're up 'ere talking to the likes o' me and not out oglin' the gels?"

  "Well, I could say it is because you are more interesting than the girls, but you would not believe me. The truth is, I told Tom Patterson I would meet him here at the docks and show him about. He's never known anyone who was acquainted hereabouts, and he wishes to see the sights," Eve said. "He should be here any moment, and I should go down to greet him."

  "Well, get ye gone, then. What are ye sitting with an old man like me when ye could be out gallivanting with yer friend? But mind ye bring 'im back 'ere long about suppertime. I'll stand ye both to a pint or two. Git!"

  Eve got, but at the end of a long and interesting day, she and Tom returned for the promised pint. Later Tom told her that Mosely was the best part of the day.

  "I am not sure I approve your friendship with that old pirate, however. He is not fit company for a gently bred young woman," Tom told her as they rode back to the West End in a filthy hackney.

  "Pooh, Tom. You are just jealous that I have the opportunity to meet such fascinating characters as he. Mr. Mosely has never said or done anything that would be in the least offensive to even the highest stickler. Just because he's homely and scarred and his language is uncultured, you call him unfit company. Well, you are wrong! He is a person of the best sort--kind, thoughtful, and generous. Many so-called gentlemen are not. And I think you're a snob!"

  "I am no such thing!" Tom countered, and the rest of their conversation degenerated into a debate worthy of siblings.

  By the next week, the argument was all but forgotten. But once more Tom reminded her that there were activities unsuitable for a young woman when she asked him to take her to a hell.

  "Now, Tom, surely no harm will come to two young men who merely wish to observe the gaming," Eve said persuasively. "You are being overly protective."

  "I won't do it. Eve, it is outside of enough that you are indulging in this ridiculous masquerade. And with my connivance! I will not do it!"

  "Oh, come now. My father was a gambler, after all!"

  "I'll warrant he never took you with him when he was gaming."

  "Well, no, but I was much younger then. I do not wish to go merely to satisfy my curiosity, you know. I feel that if I am to continue to play my role, I must understand what young men do to entertain themselves." She grinned at him. "And who knows, I may decide to venture a pound or two toward making my fortune."

  "You will do nothing of the sort. Besides, I ain't taking you to Crockford's." Tom folded his arms across his chest and glared stubbornly at Eve.

  Eve sat silent while the covers were removed from the table in the small private dining room. While they awaited the port, her mind was turning over arguments that might be used to persuade Tom to do as she wished. When they were once again alone, she resumed her arguments.

  "I always wondered what it was that made my father gamble. Oh, he taught me the games, but they were just that--games. I thought perhaps, if I were to observe gentlemen at serious play, I might gain a better understanding of what passions consumed Papa, that he dragged Mama and me all over Europe for so many years," she said, trying to make her voice sound at once curious and wistful. "And now I have the opportunity to see what sort of life my father led and you will not cooperate."

  "I certainly will not!"

  "How could it harm anyone? We would simply be two young men observing the activities of our elders."

  "Well, you just may put it out of your mind, Eve, for I am not taking you to a gaming hell," Tom said mulishly.

  "Then will you accompany me to Vauxhall, Tom, please?"

  "Absolutely not!"

  But Eve was not to be disappointed on this head, and her arguments gained in persuasiveness. Finally Tom agreed, but only under the conditions that they would go to the famed pleasure gardens as observers, and not take part in the dancing or drinking. It was agreed between them that they would go on the following Wednesday night.

  Once she had obtained Tom's reluctant agreement, Eve suggested they have a game or two of piquet before they called it a night. Tom acquiesced, and eventually lost several hundred pounds, albeit imaginary, to his companion.

  * * * *

  "Look Tom, there is Lady Seabrooke," Eve said softly, although there was little need for her to lower her voice. What with unseasonably mild weather and a moon nigh full, Vauxhall Gardens were crowded tonight. The noise of the crowd and the music from the orchestra nearly drowned out normal speech.

  When Tom did not respond, she took hold of his sleeve to catch his attention. At his questioning look, she motioned toward the booth just across the way. "Lady Seabrooke," she said more loudly.

  "Where?" Tom said, peering about him.

  "Over there, in that b
ooth. She is the lady with red hair, in the deep green gown. Let us stand here a while. I wish to observe her."

  "We'll be trod upon by the dancers if we stay here."

  "Not if we slip into this booth behind us." Eve calmly climbed the low barrier into an empty booth and sat upon a chair within.

  "Eve, you can't do this," Tom protested from without. "These booths are private."

  "But this one is empty, so no harm will be done. If its occupants return, I will apologize and we will depart. Now come here, Tom, for you are blocking my view." She patted the seat beside her. Tom joined her, his reluctance all too evident. He sat quietly as Eve craned her neck to keep her employer's mother in view.

  After a few moments' observation, she gasped. "Oh, my! He cannot be any older than I, and she at least eight and forty. How terrible!"

  Tom had been watching the dancers, clearly uninterested in Lady Seabrooke. "What are you muttering of?"

  "Look at what Lady Seabrooke is doing!" Eve stood on tiptoe to enhance her view of the opposite booth. "She and that young man with her. How can she behave so?" Lady Seabrooke and her companion were obviously oblivious to their surroundings, for they were going about their amusements without inhibition, caressing and kissing one another without regard to the fact that they were in full public view.

  Beside her, Tom also stood and peered across the dance floor. After a glance, he caught her arm and spun her around so she could not watch.

  "Let me go!" Eve tried to see past him, but his shoulders were broad and he held her so that they shut out her view.

  Just then an older couple entered the booth and demanded that the trespassers leave immediately. Eve's apologetic excuse that they must have mistaken the location of their own private booth was received grudgingly.

  By the time Eve could again get a clear view, others had joined Lady Seabrooke and her young man, and all were engaged in lively conversation.

  "It's just as well, I suppose, Tom. We cannot waste our evening sitting about, with all of Vauxhall to explore. Look! There are jugglers!" And she was off, weaving through the dancers on the crowded floor, eager to get a closer view of the three gaudily dressed men who were nonchalantly tossing flaming torches among themselves.