by Joan Smith
“What will you do till Synge comes down out of the trees?” he asked me, with no great display of interest.
“It is the chicken pox that causes her to leave,” Lady Synge insisted. “She will have to go to Monternes’ or home.” She looked to me for a decision.
“You prefer work to leisure, if I recall your preference aright,” he said.
“Yes. I wish there were someone else in the city who needed a governess for a few weeks. It would save a great deal of pointless travel.”
“Is that all you can do—be a governess?” he asked, with a certain pointedness that I could not understand.
"I am not a nursemaid, nor a modiste,” I answered pretty sharply.
“You once expressed an interest in running for Parliament, or getting into business, did you not?”
“Oh really, Philmot,” his sister said, exasperated. “What nonsense are you talking now? Miss Fenwick cannot run for Parliament.”
“Have you a seat you are trying to find someone for?” I enquired, wondering how I might fit into his scheme.
“No, not a seat in Parliament, only an empty desk in my study. My secretary has left me. I told you so the other day, Sis. Would you care to give the job a try, Miss Fenwick?”
“If you have nothing sensible to say, pray leave and let us discuss it alone,” his sister begged. She was quite distraught.
“That is impossible,” I said. “What would people say?” My first jolt of shock had soon subsided, allowing the advantages of the scheme to emerge.
Philmot’s early disapproval of me had slowly lessened, till at last his behavior was bordering on the gallant. He had claimed to have enjoyed my company at the ball, and indicated a wish to have more of it on the day he got Lady Beaton’s carriage for me. I am not a wide-eyed optimist, but stranger things have happened than a Dean’s daughter marrying an earl. There, it is out in the open. I had not quite set my cap for him, but if he gave any indication of dangling after me, I was not about to depress him.
“Who would know?” he asked. Lady Synge wore her conniving face. He spoke on calmly. “There is contagion in the house. The governess needs somewhere to spend a few weeks. I am your employer’s brother. My home, though a bachelor’s establishment, is chaperoned by an elderly female aunt. What you do there is no one’s business but our own.”
I looked to Lady Synge. Lady Synge looked to me. We both wished to say yes, and felt we should say no.
"Of course if you feel the work is beyond your capabilities...” Philmot said, casting a challenging look in my direction.
"What would the work consist of?” I asked, damping down my interest till the sister should press me a little to take the job.
"Doing my correspondence for me. I require someone capable enough that I can give my decision on matters and he—or she—compose the reply herself. It saves a great deal of time. There are many government reports I have not time to read in full. My secretary reads them and briefs me. Some help in researching speeches I make in Parliament, a little bookkeeping if you have a head for figures. My last secretary, Harding, did all that, but of course when one is making do with a temporary replacement, any help that can be given is appreciated. I would reimburse you for that portion of Miss Fenwick’s time I borrowed,” he added aside to his sister.
It was too good an offer for her to refuse. “It sounds very interesting to be sure,” she told me.
"I don’t know about those reports from the government,” I cautioned him. Writing letters when the material necessary had been told me presented no problems, neither did I feel incapable of a spot of account keeping.
“Why, Miss Fenwick, you are always talking politics,” Lady Synge said. “She knows more about politics than most men, Phil.”
"We can give it a try at least,” he said, in an encouraging way. “Even if you only copy my letters for me, it will be a help. Come now, you have said you would like to give man’s work a try. When will you have such a chance again?”
"Very well. I’ll do it, if you both feel there is nothing scandalous in it.”
“I had not thought that would deter you,” he said, lifting a brow to level a bold look at me.
“Then you have not understood me very well,” I returned.
“Scandalous? Pooh!” his sister scoffed, fearing I would dump myself back in her lap. “And we shan’t tell anyone in any case. We’ll say she is a house guest. That will prevent any talk,” she averred to Philmot.
“Well, Miss Fenwick, what do you say?” he asked.
“I am game to give it a try. Let us see how it works out. If you feel I am not worth my hire, you can
discharge me.”
“Clap hands on a bargain,” Lady Synge decreed, relief evident on every relaxed wrinkle of her face. We shook hands like a couple of gentlemen, and it was done.
“I shall go above and begin packing,” I said, happy to have found a route out of my problem.
"I'll send a carriage around for your trunks,” he offered. “When can I expect to see you report for work?”
“Right after lunch,” I told him, hoping to catch Harmsworth during his morning visit.
I had a great deal to do. It was not possible to keep an eye peeled for Harmsworth, but when I asked Alice later, she told me he had not called. “Why do you ask?”
“He was going to bring me something. Will you have it sent over to Lord Philmot’s place when it comes?”
“What is he going to bring?” she asked, bright with curiosity.
Unsure whether to expect bills or jingling coins, I hardly knew what to reply. “A letter—some information he is procuring for me,” I answered, with a vague air.
“Very well.”
I was off, with an assurance from Lady Synge that I would be hearing from her. She promised to keep me informed on Dottie’s progress, which was a matter of real concern to me. I was becoming maternally fond of the child.
My spirits were high, as I clipped along to Hanover Square. This job promised to be more interesting than overseeing the schoolroom. Neither did I think all my time would be occupied with work. A house guest I was posing as. Such a pose would demand social doings, would it not? An occasional party did not seem out of the question, or a drive in the park. I knew well enough Lord Philmot did not spend his every hour at labor. Quite the contrary.
I tried not to be overly optimistic, but some feeling in my breast told me he had asked me to his home to become better acquainted with me. I knew there were hundreds of university-educated younger sons in the city who would have snapped at the chance of being his secretary. Working for a nobleman in such a capacity was one of the established ladders to fortune. Well, well, there was more than one way to climb a ladder, and for once, a woman was getting a toehold.
Chapter Thirteen
His home was elegant in the extreme, larger than his sister’s and better maintained. A butler showed me in, where I glimpsed off to my left a very large and richly appointed saloon. On the other side an open doorway showed a smaller parlor, also done up in the first style. A stairway in the distance gave a glimmer, no more, of additional fineries beyond, with gilt-framed portraits forming a chain up the wall.
The butler took me right through to his lordship’s study. This chamber was not so beautifully done, though it did not lack refinement. It was obviously a real working study. The desk dominated it, flanked on either side by straight-backed chairs. For himself, Philmot had a more comfortable seat, padded and armed, but not ornately carved.
Around the walls were mahogany-fronted cabinets on which rested stacks of papers and books. Other than a fireplace, a table holding a carafe and glasses, there was not much in the way of creature comforts to be seen. From the three windows on the back wall there was a view of a small garden, a hedge, and a house rising beyond. Nothing to induce one to spend hours admiring the view.
"Miss Fenwick, punctual, as I might have expected,” Philmot said, arising to greet me. He indicated one of the chairs with a flourish o
f a hand, and I sat down across from him.
"This seems a very efficient setup you have here,” I complimented him.
"Harding, my last secretary, arranged it for me, carefully removing all distractions to force me to work. I fooled him, by hiring the most distracting secretary I could find.”
The compliment, accompanied as it was by a bold smile, caused me a little worry. He had not been so obvious in his compliments at Russell Square. “Kind of you to say so. I thought it was my mind you had hired, not my face.”
“I was not speaking of your face only, Miss Fenwick,” he replied to that setdown, while his eyes toured to other aspects of my anatomy that appeared to please him. I had not come envisioning business only, but certainly a flirtation in such poor taste as this never once entered my mind.
I stirred restively in my chair, thinking how best to depress him. "Would you care to show me around the office?” I asked.
“I will be charmed to show you anything you wish to see.” He arose, wearing a mocking smile, to walk out from behind his desk, offering me a hand up from the chair. When I was on my feet, the hand remained in mine. We turned towards one of the mahogany cabinets, he using the operation to lightly slide the arm around my waist. “In here you will find, if you are interested in such dull stuff, about two tons of paper dealing with the Corn Laws,” he began.
“If it is your work, then of course I am interested.”
"Is it only my work you are interested in, Miss Fenwick? There’s a leveler for me.”
"I did come here as a secretary, Philmot,” I felt compelled to remind him.
He smiled a very knowing smile, and said absolutely nothing. He did not have to. It was all there to interpret from that bold, lazy, knowing smile. He thought I had come to make a play for him. The fact that I had, did not enter into it; he had no way of knowing it. My pride was stung. He presumed a great deal to stand with his arm around me in this casual way, as though I were no better than a light-skirt. Was that what he thought of me?
I twitched away to the next cabinet. He was not two steps behind me. He placed one hand on the cabinet, the other soon found its way behind my back, with a little more pressure this time. “In here are my private documents. More interesting than the other, or so I am conceited enough to think.”
It was my turn to say nothing. I walked on, but no matter where I walked, he was there behind me, seeming to crowd me to the wall. I could not go so far as to say he had seduction on his mind, but certainly he was up to mischief. When he began speaking in a significant way about his pleasure at my being a modern-minded, enlightened lady, I was less sure about the seduction.
“I think it is time we get down to business, Philmot. That is why I am here,” I said brusquely.
“I could not agree with you more, Olivia,” he said, and yanked me into his arms. With no ceremony, no tenderness, no respect, with nothing but an excess of nerve and animal strength, he kissed me so hard my lips ached. The most humiliating thing of all was that there was not even any real passion in the embrace. I pushed him off and delivered such a sharp slap across his cheek he would not soon forget it.
"This is a strange reaction from a lady who gives lessons in sex,” he said, his eyes wide with amazement. I had the infinite satisfaction of seeing the imprint of my hand turning to red on his cheek.
“I give lessons in health, too, but I am not a doctor. I did not come here to be insulted.” I turned on my heel and headed for the door, already wondering where the deuce I was to go. It was with relief I heard his steps coming after me, hastening to beat me to the door, and close it in my face.
“This has been a misunderstanding. I am sorry,” he said, in a voice so far removed from either sorrow or humility it was difficult to believe his sincerity.
“I can’t think what I have done to give rise to such a misunderstanding.”
"Call it a suspicion then, if you dislike my choice of word. I suspected, when I heard of your secret assignations with a gentlemen of uncertain reputation…”
“There were no secret assignations. There was one accidental meeting and there was one arranged appointment for Alice to meet him, under my chaperonage. She was unable to come. As to his reputation, he is well enough thought of to be welcome at your sister’s house.”
"I warned you against him.”
“A case of the pot calling the kettle black, it would seem.”
“I have apologized. There is not the least necessity for you to go tearing from the house as though the hounds of hell were after you. You will not find me to persist where my attentions are so obviously not welcome.”
I considered the apology in silence, undecided as to my course.
“My suspicion was unfounded,” he went on, in a conciliating vein. “I have embarrassed you, and myself. Let us forget it happened.”
“How did you hear about my meeting Harmsworth?”
"Dottie told me about the first meeting. I learned of the other through a friend who chanced to see and recognize the two of you. Were there other encounters?”
"No. Did you tell Synge? Is that why he is in the boughs?”
“Certainly not. One does not relate suspicions, particularly about a lady’s virtues, without some corroboration.”
“I shouldn’t think a gentleman would relate them at all.”
“I did not say circulate. If founded, they obviously must be relayed if the lady in question has impressionable girls under her guardianship.”
“So that’s why you asked me here!” I’m sure my cheeks were crimson with shame. How had I been fool enough to think he was interested in marrying me?
“Are two apologies not sufficient? I am very relieved to be proven wrong. And I still require a secretary. You obviously came for that purpose. Let us get on with it.”
He turned back to his desk, while I hesitated at the doorway, torn by the conflicting desires of leaving in a huff, to show my disgust, and running to the desk to get down to work.
Such an interesting job was unlikely to come in my way again. There was, too, some desire to show him how far mistaken he had been in my character and conduct. He had apologized, and an apology did not come easy to him, I think. I walked slowly back into the room and took up my position on the chair across from him. The thing might never have happened. His countenance was unperturbed as he leaned over a stack of papers roughly a foot high.
“I am fallen a little behind in my correspondence,” he said. “I must go out soon, but shall give you some work to occupy your afternoon.”
“Fine.”
“These are arranged in chronological order. We’ll just begin at the top and answer them.” He lifted up one and perused it a moment. “This is from the Vechler Shipbuilding Company. Tell them no,” he said, and set the sheet aside.
“No what?” I asked, amazed at this terse way of proceeding.
“The matter will explain itself to a bright lady like you. When you scan the letter, you will see they are trying to push additional shares of the company on me. I have put notes on these letters for you to look at. This one,” he went on quickly, selecting the next, “you can tell them a hundred pounds and enclose a cheque. My bank book you will find there,” he said, pointing to a leather case on the desk. “Make it out to Hanley and I’ll sign.”
“A hundred pounds for what?” I asked, my poor head spinning.
“The letter will explain,” he said impatiently. “A connection of mine dunning me for a handout.” It was laid aside. "This one is a no; this one a yes; this one tell them maybe in the summer.. .” He ran through about twenty letters, with only the scantiest remark about each. I hoped his notes were more informative.
Even during this brief interval, he kept glancing at his watch. Before half an hour was up, he arose to leave. “That should keep you busy till I get back. If you finish, you can begin to browse through my files of correspondence to get an idea how things go on. There is an address book in that cabinet,” he said, pointing behind him. “If you hav
e any questions, just jot them down and I’ll explain when I get back. Sorry to have to rush so. If you would like to go up to your room to freshen up, I’ll have the servants prepare your office.”
While a dozen questions formed on my lips, he smiled and walked out. There was no lingering trace of anything but business. I went out into the hallway to see Philmot talking to the butler.
"Show Miss Fenwick to the Green Room, if you please,” he said, touched his fingers to his curled beaver hat, and walked out.
"The Green? I thought…” the butler said to his retreating form.
It was to the Green Room I was taken, and it was no very grand affair either. In that mansion, I suspected it was especially set aside for the dunning connections such as Hanley. The servant had seemed uncertain as to taking me there, giving me a suspicion it was not the one originally intended for a more compliant Miss Fenwick. I was still hot with wrath at the memory of my reception belowstairs upon first entering the study.
What would he have done had I gone along with his scheme? Had he intended discreetly keeping me as a mistress under his roof? I had thought they were kept in style at a good safe distance from the family abode. About the only aspect of it that did not gall was that at least a man’s mistress was generally pretty. I hardly considered myself attractive enough to qualify in such a role.
My heart lifted somewhat as I descended the grand staircase. The butler awaited me below, to show me to my office. I felt very business-like as I gathered up the letters and address book. Philmot seemed to be well organized. I would show him I was not a whit less so. He had thrown a great deal at my head in one lump, but the letters and his notes would explain.
As for the rest, why it was only to write out a neat, grammatical reply. I went towards my office, stopping at the doorway to note it was by no means so gracious as his lordship’s. Even the word plain was not too strong. There was a deal table, a straight, hard chair, no fireplace, one window that gave a stunning view of a downspout and the corner of the back doorstoop, and three curved brass hooks on the wall.
