The Anonymous Amanuensis Page 6

  "When I first put on trousers, I was constantly aware of them. Every moment, I worried I would do something, make a motion or react in a manner out of character. I observed Mr. Quinton and his servants, trying to ape their motions and their turns of phrase. The first few Wednesdays I was free, I found myself watching other young men, storing away how they moved and how they laughed, their language and their mannerisms, so that I could imitate them. Gradually it became easier to act...to be the young man I appeared. "

  She walked a few paces in silence, seeking the right words. "Eventually I found I had developed a...a masculine personality of my own. But on the days when I become female again for a few hours, I am thrown into confusion. All my carefully cultivated manners, the very way I walk, have to be suppressed. And the next day is even worse, for I have to change personas and become a man again.

  "It is very trying, Tom. I fear that one day I will forget who I am. "

  "Well, I cannot understand how you could ever forget that you are a woman," Tom said, a note of criticism in his voice.

  "Well, I do not exactly forget. I just do not remember. Can you not see the difference?"

  "No."

  "How can I explain it? Look, Tom, Papa had a friend in Hamburg who was an actor. I remember him telling us one evening that he 'slipped inside the skin' of the characters he played. He tried to see the world through their eyes and to react to it as they would. I recall clearly he said it was sometimes difficult to remember who he really was, once he was thoroughly inside one of his characters."

  Stopping, she turned and faced Tom, holding his eyes with her gaze. "I am no different from an actor in that I am playing a role. But I must play it all the time. I must forget I am Eve Dixon, the girl who grew up in Europe and who once dreamed of silken ball gowns and a husband and children. Now I am Eve Dixon, a young man who wishes to get on in the world, possibly become a merchant like my employer. I study the issues before Parliament, the profits to be made on this cargo or that, even the stocks on 'Change, just like any other ambitious young man."

  She laughed, somewhat ruefully. "Why the other day I found myself telling Mosely with all sincerity that I had an urge to go to the Indies and make my fortune."

  They seated themselves on a bench along one of the park's paths. Eve sat a while in thought, realizing that her words were not meaningful to Tom. How to make him understand? He too, seemed lost in thought. She knew he was concerned for her, and she regretted causing him to feel so.

  A pair of gaudily dressed girls strolled by, eyeing the two apparently carefree young men on the park bench. They walked a way farther, then turned and came back.

  "Lonely, gentlemen?" the taller, more attractive one asked. Her companion said nothing, but swayed her hips suggestively at Eve, smiling seductively.

  "No! Go away!" Tom said in a strangled voice. His face was red as a beet. Eve glanced mischievously at him, then returned the smile of the shorter girl.

  "We are not particularly lonely, Miss," she said. "But we would not be averse to more varied conversation. What had you in mind?"

  Tom stared at her, gaping.

  "Coo, laddy! If you don't know what I has to offer, you oughtn't to be here this time o' night," the girl retorted. She leaned over and pinched Eve's cheek. "It's a child, it is, Maisie. We're wastin' our time 'ere."

  "Maybe it's time he learned what it's like to be a man," Maisie replied. She turned to Eve. "And Sally, here, is to one to teach you. She likes little boys, she do."

  Tom finally regained his voice. "That's enough. Let's get away from here!" He took Eve's arm in a firm grasp and pulled her to her feet and along the path at a near run. The jeering laughter of the prostitutes followed them.

  After they had gone a hundred or so yards, Eve's resistance finally slowed Tom's headlong pace.

  "Idiot!" he scolded, in a quiet but angry tone. "Why did you encourage them? You should not speak to women such as they. It's not proper."

  "Tom, you must know that I had no intention of doing more than conversing with them," Eve said, still breathless from being drug along the path. "But I have never met a prostitute before and I was curious. I intended to ask her why she chose such a way of life."

  "Eve! You forget yourself. A young lady should not even be aware of such creatures, let alone converse with them."

  "Pooh! I knew about mistresses and prostitutes many years ago. And so, I'll wager, do most young women. We females are not blind, Tom, nor stupid."

  "But you should ignore such things," Tom insisted stubbornly.

  "And so I would, were I a proper young lady. But I am not. I am a young man, and so I may speak of them as I wish. But I will not, for it evidently distresses you. Oh, Tom, please do not try to protect me so," Eve pleaded, laying her hand upon his sleeve. "Just keep on being a good friend to me, and help me stay in character. Now, tell me, have you thought of any way out of my dilemma about Mrs. Storridge?"

  "No, I have not, except that you must find excuses to avoid visiting her so often. Perhaps you could invent an important commission laid upon you by Mr. Quinton that prevents your coming to see her."

  "I had planned to do just that, next time, but I cannot go on doing so forever. I am afraid if I never called on her, she might come seeking me, just to make sure of my safety." Eve sighed. "If only she were not so motherly. And if only I did not have to deceive so many people."

  "Well, you know how to avoid it, Eve. Give up this masquerade."

  "That I will not do." Again she sighed. "Well, we will never agree on that score, so let us speak of something else. Will you be free next week so we may climb the Monument as we had planned?"

  "I would not miss it for the world," Tom said, apparently admitting temporary defeat in the matter of Eve's masquerade.

  She had a feeling he would not give up.

  * * * * *

  Quinton returned after ten days' absence, satisfied that his time in Bristol had been well and profitably spent. The evening of his arrival, he dined at home, inviting Eve to join him. His spirits high due to the successful completion of a new trading agreement, he suggested that they follow their single glass of port with fine brandy suitable for toasting the anticipated profits. Eve did not feel she could refuse.

  Besides, she had never tasted brandy and was curious.

  Emboldened by Quinton's return to his earlier friendly manner and by the brandy she had consumed, Eve brought up the subject of the diamond necklace. His broad smile surprised her.

  "Ah, yes, Prudence's diamonds. They were my apology for not escorting her to the Cyprians' Ball. She was so pleased with them. Insisted I take her to the opera to show them off to her erstwhile compatriots."

  "Then I correctly prepared the draft in payment?"

  "Of course. The services rendered me by the lady are well worth the diamonds."

  "Services, sir?" Eve asked, before she could stop her tongue.

  "Come, now, Eve. You know she is my mistress. Prudence Foggett. Gad! What a name. Each time I speak it, I curse her parents, for such a divine creature to be cursed with a name like hers!"

  He poured himself another glass of brandy, raising his eyebrows when Eve shook her head as he proffered her the bottle.

  "Ah, yes, the services rendered me by dear little Prudence. It is too bad, lad, that you are still innocent. Otherwise you would understand that a mistress like Prudence is worth far more than a paltry diamond necklace. Not like a wife, who takes and takes and takes. And when there is no more to take, she forbids you her bed. Not like my mother, who made my father's life and mine miserable, until she had milked the estate dry and departed, seeking more excitement and new prey." He glowered into his glass.

  "But surely not all marriages are like your parents'." Eve was severely distressed at the bitterness she heard in his voice. "Some must be happy. My parents loved each other dearly, and my father was devastated when Mama died."

  "But your mother was a peasant, I believe you told me. Perhaps it is only ladies of the t
on who are rapacious. But I doubt it. I think it is a characteristic of the sex. Your mother was that happy exception, I expect."

  At Eve's involuntary frown, he went on, "Your previous employers' wife is another example of the viciousness inherent to the female sex. I have met Chas' sister-in-law and I dislike her intensely. She is whining, selfish, grasping, and, by all that Chas has intimated, cruel to her servants and cold to her husband."

  "Lady Charlotte is not a good example of womanhood, I must admit. But know you no women who are fine and gracious and generous? Are all your female acquaintances like Charlotte and your mother?" Eve was not about to allow Quinton to denigrate her entire sex because of two or three bad examples.

  "No, but enough of them are that I am determined that I want no women about me except those over whom I exert control. Like my sister. And my mistress." He slapped his palm upon the table, the loud crack causing Eve to jump in her chair. "Damn it, Eve! Even the meek and shrinking little chit to whom I was promised at an early age proved to be a betrayer and a wanton. And she not yet seventeen."

  "But I understood it was her family who forbade the marriage, not the young lady," Eve protested.

  "Who told you that?"

  "Forgive me. It really is none of my business. Only Mr. Garfield, when he was explaining that you kept no housekeeper nor any live-in housemaids, told me you were bitter over being rejected by your intended's family."

  "And so I was," Quinton said, his words slightly slurred now. "I was, indeed. But that was not the whole of it. Georgina, the little baggage, wrote to me, telling me that, even had her family approved the marriage, she would have refused to go through with it, for she had it in her head to wed someone who could introduce her to Society and who would allow her cicisbeos. She had decided I was not that someone, for she knew I would do neither. She has since wed an old dodderer who keeps her clothed in the first stare of fashion and who allows his fellows to partake of her favors." He snorted. "But they do not move in the first levels of Society, that crowd. I know, for my mother is one of them."

  "So you turn instead to a mistress who only allows you her favors because of the lodgings and jewels you provide her. Is she any better than the women whom you denigrate?"

  "Come, Eve, do I detect disapproval?"

  "No, sir. Not at all." But she did disapprove. At least she thought that disapproval was the source of her reaction every time he spoke fondly of his mistress. "It is not my place to approve or disapprove your actions."

  "But you do. I can see that. Are you then a prude? I would not have taken you for one." Quinton sat in the chair across from her and looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "You must know, lad, that most men of my age and station keep mistresses. It is so much more sensible than visiting a bordello. Safer as well." He smiled. "However, it is not cheaper, as you can see from that bill. Prudence is a very expensive piece. Well worth it though." He leaned back, a smug expression on his face and his eyes staring into the distance.

  Eve chose not to answer him, nor to recall him from his no doubt pleasant reverie. Why did it cause her heart to ache when Quinton spoke of his mistress, she wondered.

  Wistful of changing the subject, she moved across the room to the bookshelves and skimmed her eyes along the titles. Seeing nothing that sounded like light reading, she selected a book at random. She turned to face Quinton and said, lightly, "I find I am somewhat sleepy. Would you find it amiss if I took this and went to my bed? The brandy must have gone directly to my head."

  Seemingly lost somewhere within himself, Quinton merely waved a languid hand at her and continued to stare into space.

  When Eve got to her room, she discovered she was carrying a book of sermons.

  Later, in her bed, she tried to discover why every time Quinton spoke of the beautiful Miss Foggett, her stomach threatened to knot and her throat to tighten. She should be immensely relieved, her inner self scolded, to have yet another proof that she, in her masculine role, was in no danger from her employer.

  Eve was now convinced that Lady Seabrooke's warning had been a carefully contrived lie, calculated to cause trouble for her son. The truth was that Quinton was a perfectly normal man, with as much of an eye for the ladies as anyone. So her virtue was in no danger of being assaulted by her employer. And knowing him a thoroughly manly man, why should she be distressed by proof of his masculinity?

  She tossed and turned until well after midnight and when she finally did sleep, her dreams were of Quinton. But in them, she was no longer Eve Dixon, the secretary, but Eve Dixon, the kept woman, bedecked with flashing diamonds, gowned in revealing garments, displayed for all to see in a box at the opera. When she awoke with an aching head and gritty eyes, she recalled those dreams. How could she have seen Quinton in such a light? Was she developing a tendre for him?

  Never, she told herself sternly. She merely admired and respected him for his business acumen and his considerate treatment of her. Never mind that her body thrilled whenever he laid his hand upon her shoulder.

  The next morning Quinton burst into the room, all trace of his previous night's mood gone. "Have you finished those letters to Holland? Good, let me see them." He picked up the proffered letters and moved to his own desk. After reviewing them, he appended his signature to each and returned them to Eve with a word of approval.

  "When you have finished with these, I wish you to write to my steward at Fallowfeld. I have a notion to get out of London early this year. Tell him to prepare for our arrival on Monday next. And warn him we will need two additional bedchambers made ready, ones suitable for ladies to occupy. Oh, and we'll take Emile and two or three of the permanent staff from here, as well. Tell Bartlett to make the usual arrangements, will you, Eve?"

  "Very good," Eve said, her heart sinking. Was he planning to take his mistress to Fallowfeld? "Will the ladies be traveling with us?"

  "Hardly. They will be coming from Seabrooke and it would be impractical for them to come to London, only to travel back with us. I am going out, Eve. Is there anything else I should attend to before I go?"

  "Nothing, sir. I believe that you have taken care of all my questions." Even the one about Prudence, she finished silently, conscious of a feeling of tremendous relief that his mistress would not be one of the Fallowfeld household.

  "Good. I will see you tomorrow." He left, whistling softly. Eve was certain that he was on his way to visit Prudence.

  A few moments later, he stuck his head back inside the door. "Mosely will go with us. Make sure you let him know."

  Now why on earth? Eve wondered.

  Chapter Six

  Eve spent the Sunday before the departure for Fallowfeld with Tom Patterson, having again engaged a room in which to change her clothing. As usual, her skirts felt strange and confining. How she looked forward to the summer in the country, when she would not be required to don them for at least three months. She and Tom visited Mrs. Storridge, who relaxed her prohibition against men in the house so that they might take luncheon with her. Assured by Eve that all was well, she expressed her happiness that Eve was to be in the country for the summer.

  "For it gets that hot and humid here in Town, you know," she said. "I only wish I could get away myself for more than the two weeks I spend with my sister in Bath. But I confess, I find myself uncomfortable being away from here any longer. Where is this Fallowfeld that you will be staying, Eve?"

  "I understand it is in Essex, near Colchester."

  "Well, you will enjoy yourself, I'm sure. Do you good to get out of town, away from the noise and confusion. You'll come back all rested up, for you look as if you have been working too hard."

  Eve tried in vain to explain that she would work at Fallowfeld as she had in Town. Mrs. Storridge's idea of a visit to the country was that it was a holiday. Later Eve and Tom laughed at the woman's warnings to Eve to stay out of the sun and to behave with circumspection while she was at Fallowfeld. "For you should know that gentlemen will often be less careful about their
behavior in the country," the landlady warned.

  "I really don't think she has any idea of my duties, Tom," Eve said.

  "How should she? Her only knowledge of country living must come from the Post. It certainly gives a distorted picture of Society's behavior." Tom took her arm. "You do not have to be back until evening, do you?"

  "No, I am nearly packed."

  "Well, then, let us pretend we are idly rich and promenade in Hyde Park this afternoon. I have a wish to ape my betters."

  "Oh, Tom," Eve laughed, "we are not dressed for Hyde Park, and they are not your betters. You are as well born as most of them. Besides, someday you will be rich and famous, after you have obtained the position in government that you seek."

  Tom persuaded Eve to accompany him to the park and she found she was glad she had. It was most entertaining, seeing the ton in all its glory. What was even more entertaining was to pretend that she was part of the panoply. They strolled, arm in arm, along the walks, smiling and nodding to others engaged in similar occupations. She enjoyed herself thoroughly until she saw a familiar face. Mr. Quinton, driving a dashing curricle, was accompanied by one of the most beautiful women Eve had ever seen. She darted behind Tom, hoping Quinton would not notice her. When her employer was out of sight, she pulled at Tom's arm. "We must get away from here, Tom. What if he should see me?"

  "He would not recognize you, Eve, not in that bonnet. But if you are worried, we can walk along one of the paths away from the road. I doubt his companion would wish to stroll in the mud."

  They hurried along a side path and were soon lost to sight from the road. Eve's nervousness decreased and she was able again to laugh and joke with Tom.

  The rest of the day was most pleasant. They dined on sausages and buns from pushcarts, munching away as they walked along Piccadilly. It was late when she changed again into her trousers and coat. She told Tom that she had no need of his escort back to Portman Square, but he insisted. As the hackney drew up before the Quinton house, he took her hands in his.