The Anonymous Amanuensis Read online

  Eve wormed her way to the front of the crowd surrounding the jugglers. Fascinated, she watched their seemingly effortless movements, marveling at their ability to catch the torches by the right ends, never grasping the flames, yet never seeming to watch where their hands were either.

  When the jugglers switched to wooden clubs, she lost interest and drifted to the back of the crowd. Tom was nowhere in sight. Worried, she headed back to the booth where she had last seen him, only to spy him just disappearing down a path leading into the less well-lit part of the gardens. She followed, although by the time she made her way through a clot of giggling young women, she could no longer see him.

  Hoping she was indeed following in Tom's footsteps, Eve made her way along an increasingly dark route. The path she trod was thickly screened with shrubs and trees and poorly lit. Here and there she came upon small openings supporting benches of stone. Most were occupied by couples intertwined in embraces.

  She wandered for some moments, not certain of how to find her way back to the lighted areas, her cheeks growing warm when she saw sights better ignored. Several times she was jostled as pleasure seekers ran headlong along the darkened paths. Once she came upon a group of men surrounding a pair of revealingly dressed women. Standing well back from them, she listened as they carried on an impromptu bidding for the favors of the women.

  When finally she found herself once again in the part of the park where dancing was taking place, Eve was beyond relieved. Vauxhall Gardens were every bit as licentious as she had heard. Deeply grateful she was clad in trousers and not a gown, she sat upon a stone bench and fanned herself. This is clearly no place for an unaccompanied young woman.

  She scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Tom's broad shoulders. At last she spied him, waiting by the entrance to the line of private booths. She hurried to his side.

  "I think I am ready to depart now," she said, before he could demand to know where she had been.

  "About time," her companion growled. "Eve, if you ever run off like that again, scaring me out of my liver and lights, I'll...well, I don't know what I'll do, but it will be something you'll regret."

  But they were not to depart immediately, for just as they approached the gates, they came face to face with Lady Seabrook, without her youthful partner. Eve moved aside so the lady could pass her.

  "Not so fast, sir," the lady said, snatching at Eve's sleeve. "You're that namby-pamby secretary of James's. I want a word with you."

  "I beg your pardon, ma'am. My friend and I were just leaving," Eve said. She attempted to free her sleeve from the lady's firm grasp, but had no success.

  "Well, and I say you are not. Come with me. I wish to speak with you," Lady Seabrooke said, imperiously. She pulled Eve toward the booth she had occupied earlier.

  Short of creating a scene, Eve had no choice but to go along with the lady, so firmly was she held. She cast a resigned glance at Tom, who moved to follow.

  "Not you." Lady Seabrooke waved him back. "Wait here. I won't eat your friend."

  She maneuvered Eve into the empty booth. Her second shove made Eve all but fall into a chair. When Eve tried to rise, she was firmly shoved back onto the seat.

  "You'll not get away until I've emptied my budget, young man," Lady Seabrooke said, her fading beauty marred by a petulant twist to her mouth "You are privy to all my son's business, are you not? Then you may be of assistance to me. I shall make it worth your while."

  Eve could only shake her head, stricken with speechless astonishment.

  "It is my intention to partake of my son's business successes. I wish you to inform me when he buys into cargoes, so I may do so as well." Pulling a second chair nearer to Eve, she sat and once again caught Eve's coat sleeve with grasping fingers. "Such an unnatural child! He begrudges his own mother a share in his good fortune."

  "I am on the edge of penury." She dabbed at her kohled eyelids with a wisp of lacy handkerchief. "I go practically in rags and can barely afford to keep food on my table, while he lives in luxury in that magnificent house of his in Portman Square. Surely you will have pity upon me, young man?"

  "I do not see, ma'am, what I could do to help you," Eve said, curious despite her skepticism. Mr. Quinton had said his mother had a fortune of her own, so surely she could not be living in abject poverty. "You must speak with your son."

  "Ah, but he refuses to see me... He will not answer my letters, beg him though I do. And now he has forbidden me his house. Oh, oh!" she sobbed into her hands, "What is a poor woman to do? Surely you must pity a mother so neglected by her eldest child. And his dear brothers. They are deep in debt and must leave London to escape the Marshalsea."

  About to promise a word with Mr. Quinton on his mother's behalf, Eve remembered the tongue-lashing she had received from this woman not so many weeks past. Even if she entirely believed Lady Seabrooke, she would not be inclined to help her, unless there was strong evidence that she was being mistreated.

  Eve doubted such evidence would be forthcoming, even if she were to demand it. Mr. Quinton had given her no reason to doubt his veracity.

  Yet she did not wish to call his mother a liar to her face. "Lady Seabrooke, I have nothing to do with your son's finances," she said, as gently as she could. "I am merely his employee, and cannot do anything to assist you, I am afraid."

  "Oh, but you can! You can tell me of his investments. And knowing of them, I can copy them, so that I too can profit."

  "I could not do that, my lady. Your son's business matters are confidential."

  "Of course you can, you young idiot! I will pay you well. Look at you, shabby and worn. Surely you would like a regular income over and above your pay from my miserly son."

  Outraged now, for she saw what a consummate actress the woman was, Eve said. "No, my lady, I would not. There is nothing you can say to me that would persuade me to betray Mr. Quinton's confidence in me." She was by now thoroughly disgusted with Lady Seabrooke, but did not know how to escape, short of forcefully freeing herself from the lady's grasp.

  Lady Seabrooke glared, but did not immediately answer. After a few moments, she said, "Well, if you cannot, you cannot. But tell me, Mr., ah...Mr. Hickson, is it not? No, that is not right. Mr. Dixon. So Mr. Dixon, do have some of this wine. It is excellent." Her voice was no longer hard and demanding, but dulcet and gentle. She poured a glass of wine and offered it to Eve, who took it automatically, though she did not drink.

  "You must know, Mr. Dixon," Lady Seabrooke went on, "that my son has had a great number of secretaries over the past ten years. Few of them have stayed over a few months. Since you have now been in his employ for some time, I can only hope he has mended his ways." She peered at Eve from under improbably long lashes.

  "Mr. Quinton has always been a kind and generous employer to me, ma'am," Eve said, not understanding the innuendo in the woman's tone. Once more she attempted to pull her sleeve free.

  Instead her motion prompted Lady Seabrooke to grab her wrist with the other hand. "Ah, yes, it always begins that way. I hope, for your sake, Mr. Dixon, that he is reformed, for you seem like a very nice boy. How old are you, by the way?"

  "I am twenty, ma'am." As soon as the words fell from her lips, she remembered she had told Quinton that she was eighteen. How she hated this need to deceive everyone!

  "So young! So innocent to be exposed to such a monster of depravity. Take my advice, Mr. Dixon, and leave my son's employ before...before..." Again the scrap of lace was applied to the suspiciously dry eyes. "Oh! I cannot continue. The thought of your being exposed to his perversions quite sickens me!"

  "I do not understand, my lady, what you are attempting to tell me. Mr. Quinton's behavior is always everything that is correct."

  Eve was now so curious as to what the lady was alluding that she had quite forgot her earlier wish to depart. Even when her wrist was released and the lady's hand gently grasped hers, she sat still.

  "You must have noticed that there are no women in my son's household," Lady
Seabrooke said, her voice low, as if she were imparting a secret. "Have you never wondered why there are not?"

  "I was told that he has an aversion to women because..." Eve hesitated, not wanting to risk the lady's anger.

  "Because he so dislikes his mother. Is that not what they have told you?"

  Eve nodded.

  "Well, they lie!" Extracting a fan from a pocket under her skirt, Lady Seabrooke plied it rapidly before her opulent bosom. "Oh, my poor child, do you not understand? My son is unnatural. He has no women in his household because he cares only for men. And more particularly, for very pretty, very young men such as yourself."

  "My lady!" Eve said, shocked to the core.

  "Yes, I can see that you had not suspected." No longer clutching, her soft hand patted the back of Eve's, a sympathetic gesture that somehow felt wrong.

  "My child, you are in grave danger." Pat...pat...pat....

  "Grave danger," she repeated. "Soon my son's self-restraint will erode and you will be at his mercy." Her eyes grew dramatically large. "Oh, my dear Mr. Dixon, please take my advice! Leave his employ as soon as you can!"

  One more flutter of the fan, then she snapped it shut. "Now, I must keep you no longer. You friend will be growing impatient." She stood and extended a hand to be saluted. "Be warned, Mr. Dixon. Leave my son's employ, lest you become as debauched as he!" She rose in dismissal.

  Eve stumbled from the booth, confused and distressed.

  Her distress must have been evident on her face when she rejoined Tom. "What is it Eve? What did she say to you?"

  "I cannot tell you, Tom, for I must have time to think on it. No, do not tease me," she protested as Tom started to insist on knowing the reason for her distress. "Either she is a terrible person or I am vastly mistaken in Mr. Quinton. But I cannot tell you what she implied. It is too terrible!"

  She refused to say more. So Tom, mystified and himself somewhat overset, found a hackney and delivered her to the house in Portman Square.

  Chapter Five

  Fortunately, business matters took Quinton to Bristol early the day after her encounter with Lady Seabrooke, which gave Eve a respite from his company. She was relieved, for she felt unable to face him until she had had time to consider what his mother had told her.

  Not completely cognizant of the implications of Lady Seabrooke's words, she nonetheless understood that her employer had been accused of something unspeakable. She found herself often distracted from her daily tasks by an unruly mind, which kept replaying the woman's warning.

  It cannot be true, Eve told herself a hundred times a day. Surely I did not mistake the lecherous expression on his face when he spoke of his mistress that terrible and embarrassing evening. Quinton's interest in women, at least those of a certain sort, seemed to Eve, with her limited experience, all that was normal. But Lady Seabrooke had seemed so sincerely concerned that Eve could not entirely discount what she had said.

  How advantageous Quinton was away from London just now, for if he were here, she would find it impossible to behave naturally toward him. If his hand came to rest on her shoulder, she knew she would offend him with her involuntary retreat.

  Yes, Eve decided finally, that was why she could not completely discount Lady Seabrooke's warning. Are such gestures really acceptable among men, she asked herself time and again.

  Or did Quinton have designs on her person, as his mother accused him of doing?

  Eve's efficiency suffered greatly for several days, until she was required to deal with a decision, which she felt to be beyond the scope of her position.

  Among the correspondence one morning was one that threw Eve into a state of shock. She was going through the household accounts, a task she was now left to do without supervision, when she came upon a bill from Rundel and Bridge. A thousand pounds for a set of diamond jewelry! Certain that there must be some mistake, she set it aside. Perhaps his mother was again attempting to bilk her son. But when Quinton did not return that evening, nor the next, she became worried. Her instructions were to pay all bills as they arrived, Quinton having explained he had no intention of following the practice of most of Society, that of making tradesmen wait unconscionably long to receive their just receipts.

  When the third day after the bill in question had arrived but Quinton had not, Eve decided she must handle the matter herself. She dispatched a note to the jewelers, asking them by whom the diamonds had been purchased.

  A reply came almost immediately. Mr. Quinton himself had purchased the item, ordering it to be delivered to a Miss Prudence Foggett. The writer had added, gratuitously, that it was not the place of Mr. Quinton's secretary to question his purchases, but in order to expedite the receipt of payment, the information had been provided.

  Eve was furious. She dashed off another note to Rundel and Bridge, telling them that it was indeed her duty to question any expenditure connected with Mr. Quinton's household accounts and that, had the information not been forthcoming, the bill would not have been paid. Since she now was assured that her employer had made the purchase, payment would be made as soon as Mr. Quinton returned to put his signature to the draft. Once the draft was prepared for signature, Eve put the situation out of her mind, certain she had handled it well.

  The incident, oddly enough, served to reassure her that Quinton was not as his mother painted him. How could he keep a mistress, lavish his money and attentions upon her, if his taste was not for females? Eve put her worries over Lady Seabrooke's insinuations from her mind. Only an occasional niggling doubt disturbed her determined belief in Quinton's normalcy.

  Sundays Eve usually spent quietly alone, wandering around the Portman Square or curled up on a comfortable sofa in his library, reading the books she had never had time to read before. Twice a month, Tom rented for her the small chamber at the Blue Bear, so she might change her garments and go to visit Mrs. Storridge. She had taken a sincere liking to her one-time landlady, and enjoyed the few hours she spent as herself, not living a lie.

  Her best black gown in the valise entrusted to Tom's care was, after three months, becoming tiresome, but it was the only one Eve felt she could wear without arousing suspicions. The excuse of still being in mourning for her grandfather was thin, but she could think of no other reason why she must always appear in the same gown.

  Mrs. Storridge tended to mother her, something Eve found curiously comforting. Her questions were easily answered for the most part, since Mrs. Storridge had no idea of the duties of a secretary, nor of the conditions under which Eve worked. So she was able to satisfy the woman's curiosity with descriptions of the interior of Quinton's house and the inhabitants thereof. She even invented a housekeeper, Mrs. Blodgett, whom she described to Mrs. Storridge as "a great stickler for propriety and one who likes meals to be served on time."

  More lies, she lamented more than once. But she could see no other choice, save seeking another, less remunerative, position.

  As time went on and the end of her three-month probationary period passed, Eve became conscious of a feeling of strain on those Sundays when she donned feminine clothing. She needed advice. Tom was the only person, other than Mrs. Storridge, she could turn to.

  Taking advantage of Mr. Quinton's absence, Eve invited Tom to dinner, having previously obtained permission to do so. Knowing of Tom's preference for a well-cooked ragout of beef, she had, with some difficulty, persuaded Emile to prepare a simple dinner around that, in the volatile French chef's opinion, plebian dish. Tom was vocal in his praise.

  After dinner, Eve suggested that they stroll to Green Park and enjoy the long May twilight. She wanted to take advantage of Tom's charitable mood.

  "I wish to speak to you privately, Tom, but did not feel I could do so with Bartlett and the other servants able to overhear," she explained when her friend complained humorously about being torn away from his port.

  "Such very good port it was. I must tell Lord Arduin about it, so he can discover from Quinton its source," Tom said. He sighed, dram
atically. "And now, Eve, what was it so important that you had to deprive me of a second glass to tell me?"

  "I am not quite sure how to state it, Tom," Eve said hesitantly. "I have a problem I cannot solve and I need your advice."

  "Advice I have in plenty. The first of it is to be done with this masquerade. I still cannot like it," Tom said, reminding her of a subject of frequent disagreement between them.

  Eve shook her head. "No, dear friend, that is not a thing I will do. I am earning my living. I am happy with Mr. Quinton. And I particularly enjoy my freedom from the strictures which surround young women."

  She skipped a little ahead of her companion, then turned and bowed extravagantly to him. "Give up all of this? Give up being able to walk in the park of an evening, to explore London freely, to go about on my own without a chaperone, and to be free from unwelcome advances by drunken--and sometimes sober--gentlemen? No, I would not willingly relinquish my trousers, not now."

  She became serious. "But that is what I wish to speak to you about."

  "You need more trousers," Tom ventured.

  "No. Well, yes, I would like another outfit. One that is perhaps less worn than those I have. If I were to give you the funds, could you, perhaps..."

  "I will, though I should not."

  "Thank you. You are a true friend. No, Tom, what I wished to say is how am I going to avoid going to Mrs. Storridge's so often?"

  "Why should you?"

  "It has become very uncomfortable. I no longer have to think at all times of how to behave, how to move as a man. I sometimes go on for hours at a time forgetting that I am anything but a young male. I will not say I always think as a man, for I do not. But I almost always behave as one now. On those days when I return to skirts, I must constantly remind myself that I am a young woman."

  "I don't understand. You are a young woman. Why should it be uncomfortable to act as one?"