The Anonymous Amanuensis

by Judith B. Glad

  "No, tell me."

  James spent the next hour relating, with much detail and many asides, just how elaborate the stables were to be at the would-be Regent's favored seaside resort. When he saw that Chas' eyes were growing heavy, he halted his comments and said, "Enough of that, Chas. You are for bed. I forgot you are recovering from an infection." He rang the bell for Bartlett.

  "And from seasickness. How is it that, in all my years as a soldier, I have not until now suffered from that vile malady? Had it not been for Slater's constant attentions, I should have probably died from starvation on the ship from the Peninsula."

  "I would wager your wound made you more susceptible. Ah, yes, Bartlett, I wish you to assist me in carrying Mr. Hadley to his room. We should be able to manage without Private Slater, who looked as done in as his master." The two made a chair of their arms and succeeded in carrying Chas up the stairs and to his bed chamber with a minimum of discomfort to the wounded Major. James' own valet prepared the gentleman for bed, without waking the exhausted Slater who slept on a trundle just within the dressing room.

  Chas' infected wound, located as it was in the calf of his right leg, prevented him from walking about for nearly a fortnight. The infection, stubbornly persistent in the foul air of a military hospital and the fouler air of a ship's hold, had begun to respond to the applications of fomentations almost immediately when he was ensconced in James's town house. As the days passed, however, he regained his vitality and became restless. James was hard put to keep him amused and inactive.

  One night, in desperation, James said, "Chas, if you will promise to do as the doctor said and lay back on that sofa instead of hobbling about the room like a gimp-legged tiger, I will tell you a story."

  "Bedtime stories is it, Jamie?" But Chas did as he was bid and reclined, propping the injured leg on a pillow. "Proceed with your tale, O troubadour. Or is that the title I want?"

  "Close enough. Before I begin, Chas, I want you to promise me you will not interrupt, nor will you attempt to pry from me the identity of the person of whom I speak. When I am done with my tale, you may ask what you wish of me, but I do not promise to answer."

  "As you will, sir. But how unfair of you! Tell away!"

  So James told the tale of a young man who came to be employed by another, older gentleman. A young man who so perfectly fitted his position and who was so likeable that his employer came to love him like a brother. Choosing his words carefully, avoiding all mention of what position the young man had filled, he went on to tell of how the young man had become part of the family, friend to his employer's sister, respected by the servants and by fellow employees, indispensable to the employer's business.

  "What a paragon," Chas murmured, but James ignored him.

  "Then, when he had wormed his way into the hearts of all he encountered within the employer's household and business, he fell victim to an accident. While he was incapacitated, the employer learned that this estimable young man had been, from the first, deliberately and maliciously betraying him."

  "Dastardly fellow," came another soft murmur.

  "The young man inveigled his employer into a compromising position, one which there was no honorable means of escaping. So the employer accused the youth of deliberate treachery and discharged him." James fell silent.

  Five minutes passed, then ten, as he stared into the fire, seeing in its flickering flames a face he could not forget.

  "Well?"

  "Well what, Chas?"

  "What comes next? You cannot just stop there. Surely this tale you tell me has a moral. All bedtime stories must have a moral."

  "No," James said, "there is no moral. That is the end of the story." That he wanted it to go on, to have a happy ending, made no difference.

  "Good God, Jamie! That's no bedtime story. It isn't even a good anecdote. What was the deceit practiced by the young man? Why was there no honorable way the employer could escape from the compromising position? You cannot dine out on a stupid tale such as that."

  "I had no intention of doing so. I told you in hopes you would be able to provide a solution to the problem."

  "I might, if you were to put me in possession of all the facts. Jamie, what did the young man do that was so terrible?"

  "He masqueraded as something he was not."

  "So?" Chas started to pull himself to a standing position. "A lot of us do that. Sometimes it is necessary to survival."

  "Sit...No! Lie down, you idiot," James growled. "All right, I will embroider my tale. The young idiot was not a youth, but a girl. When her employer discovered her sex, he felt he was compromised and must discharge her. She had lived under his roof, unchaperoned, for better than half a year."

  "Don't blame him. Stupid chit, to attempt to get away with a trick like that. But the employer must have been a bacon-brain as well, not to twig to her for so long."

  "Oh, but she was most convincing. He had to remove her shirt before he realized that she was no lad."

  Chas' eyebrows rose and an expression of astonishment grew on his face. "You! Jamie, 'twas you were the employer." As James shook his head vigorously, Chas burst into hearty laughter. "The compleat misogynist, taken in by a girl. The man who won't have a female under his roof, harboring a young woman for a half-year and better. This is rich!"

  "Stubble it, Chas. It's not amusing. And I would not have told you had I not needed your advice. What else was I to do but send her away?"

  "Why, nothing. She had earned only your contempt. But what I don't understand is why she tried to pass as a man. Wouldn't she have done better on her back? Or was she a perfect quiz?"

  "She was the most lovely woman I have ever seen," said James softly, "and the finest."

  Chas regarded his old friend with blatant astonishment. At last he said, "You love her, don't you, Jamie?"

  "Love her? Of course not! What a damnable notion. She betrayed me, I tell you!"

  "And you have spent, in your own words, 'a miserable autumn' trying to find a way to forgive her that betrayal. You must love her, man, else you'd have put her out of your mind in a thrice."

  "Nonsense. If you're going to prattle of love like a romantic old woman, I'm going to go to bed. Ring for Bartlett if you want anything." James stalked angrily from the room.

  No words passed between the old friends concerning James' story the next day, but there was constraint between them. Chas seemed thoughtful, and James wondered, once or twice, if Eve might have written to her uncle. Of course not, he told himself. He would have shot me on sight if he had known, wound or no wound.

  As the day wore on, however, he became convinced that he owed Chas the truth, and the devil with the consequences.

  "I did not tell you the whole tale, Chas," James said that evening after the port had been poured and the servants had gone.

  "You had better empty your budget, then, my friend, for I cannot advise you without knowing all the details. And you do wish advice, I take it, else you'd not have brought it up again."

  "Advice? No, I no longer need advice. I know what I must do." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Just telling you has made the pain and anger I felt when I learned of...of her deception return in full force. But at the same time, it clarified my thoughts."

  "Out with it then, man." Chas hit the table beside him a sharp blow, one that startled James' eyes open. "Finish your story. Then tell me what you plan to do."

  Without sparing himself, James told of his advances to Eve in the forest glade, his taking of her. "She did not fight me and indeed, she even invited me into her bed, at the last, Chas. But I feel that I gave her no real choice. She was still weak from her injuries, vulnerable, and I took advantage of her condition."

  He drew a hand across his face, and was surprised at the sweat he wiped from his brow. Knowing what the inevitable end of this conversation would be, but dreading it nonetheless, he rose to his feet and leaned against the edge of his desk, his back to Chas.

  "And still you sent
her away. Why, Jamie?"

  "I don't know. Oh, at the time it was so easy to convince myself that the whole episode was her fault. That she had seduced me. But I know better, now, and am ashamed."

  "Have you tried to find her? Or do you still wish to be shut of her?"

  "I want her as I have never wanted a woman in my life. But she rejected me, Chas, when I tried to offer her assistance. She threw my money in my face."

  "Money is not always the answer, Jamie, although to you, who had to strive so desperately to obtain it, it may seem so. If she would not take your money, how did she expect to support herself? Has she family? Or do you not know? And what if she is with child?"

  "There is family--of sorts. Although I'll wager they treat her like a servant. And it is because I do not know if she conceived that I told you my story. What am I to do, Chas?"

  "You did not say whether you had sought her," Chas said reflectively.

  "I know where she is," James replied. "Or at least I think I do. But what if I go to her and she rejects me again? What if she despises me?"

  "Then you will take it like a man. Good God, Jamie! Is this the man who parlayed a pittance into one of England's greatest fortunes? I don't believe you can be so craven!" Chas rose to his feet and began hobbling about the room. "If you are afraid to face her alone, I will go with you. But go you must, if for no other reason than to lay the ghost that haunts you. Where is she?"

  "In Yorkshire," James croaked, as if the words strangled him.

  "So I am to endure a Yorkshire winter after all. Oh, well, so be it. Where in Yorkshire? Anywhere near Elmwood?"

  "Yes." The word was a faint whisper.

  "God save me from fools in love! Where is the chit?" Chas all but roared.

  "She is at Elmwood, Chas. It is your niece. Eve," James said, closing his eyes as he turned to face his oldest and best friend.

  Chas stopped his pacing and stood very still. "Did I hear you aright, Jamie?" he asked, in a dangerously soft voice.

  James nodded.

  "You bastard!" Chas felled James with a hard fist to his jaw.

  As James fell to the floor, the crippled soldier grasped a chair for support. But his injured leg gave way under him and he toppled. He rolled to his side and managed to rise to his knees. Grabbing James's cravat, Chas shook him violently, banging his head against the polished floorboard and cursing all the while.

  Eventually the cursing died away. Chas dropped James, and collapsed beside him, breathing heavily.

  Head still ringing, James reached an unsteady hand to Chas. "My friend, I think you have given me the punishment which my confused mind demanded. Will you still go to Yorkshire with me? Are you still my friend?"

  He felt rather than saw Chas nod.

  "Good. For I intend to marry your niece, whether she wishes it or not. I may need your help to drag her to the altar." James struggled to his feet and reached a hand down to assist Chas in doing likewise.

  "I don't think you broke my jaw, but it was not for want of trying. And I doubt not that my head will be ringing like a church bell for a week."

  "Only what you deserved, you router," Chas answered gruffly. "But if you'll marry the girl, I suppose I must forgive you. Family and all that. Do we leave tomorrow?"

  "At first light. But we must go by way of Fallowfeld. Mosely is there, and he would never forgive me if I did not take him along. He has not yet forgiven me for sending Eve away."

  * * * *

  "You realize, man, that we must do something to prevent Eve's being recognized as your secretary once you are wed. The scandal would be no less harmful to a new bride than to an unmarried girl." James's carriage was rolling through a drizzle that had driven even the stalwart Mosely under cover, and the three men were sprawled about its well-appointed interior, scowling at the weather.

  "Ah, sir, that'll not be needful. Once 'er 'air is grown out and she's properly clad, there's no one could know she's the same person," Mosely said.

  "Perhaps not, but we can take no chances. And there's the name. How can I have a Mr. Eve Dixon as my male secretary and then, a few months later marry a Miss Eve Dixon? Particularly given the resemblance between them. Even if they were unsure, people would be bound to gossip," James agreed. "And what of my servants?"

  "Then she must use some other name. And we can tell people that Dixon was a cousin of hers, or something." Chas scratched his head. "I have it! M'brother took his wife's name when my father disowned him. She's a right to the Hadley name, no question about it."

  "Splendid idea, Chas! We'll do it. But what about your brother and sister-in-law. Would they blab?"

  "Not them, if I tell Alfred that you could and would ruin him financially if he ever breathed a word of gossip about Eve. Besides, they've never introduced her about the county, not wanting it known they had such a shameful connection. Neither did m'father."

  Chas smiled fiendishly. "Leave Alfred and Charlotte to me. I'll enjoy rubbing their noses in Eve's good fortune, especially after the manner in which they have treated her these past years."

  After a while, Chas roused himself from a doze and said, "You know, Jamie, I'm not fond of Alfred, and Charlotte gives me the pip."

  James laughed.

  Chas went on. "And I hate the cold. I've a notion to move south when I sell out. If I ever do. In the meantime, you can keep my traps and horses at Fallowfeld, can you not?"

  "Chas, I will support you for the rest of your life, should you desire it, if you will only help me protect Eve."

  "No need of that. Just put me in the way of a good investment now and then, so I can pick up a little place in the country when the war's over. My tastes are simple."

  "Better than that, I'll make a settlement to you instead of Alfred and invest it in your name. Your brother, from all accounts, has no right to it. You'll have your country place, but it had better be near Fallowfeld--or Seabrooke."

  "I was just thinkin', Jamie, about the servants at Fallowfeld," Mosely said a while later. "Why don't we tell 'em the truth? And Miss Penny and your pa, too?"

  "Good God! You must be out of your mind!" James exclaimed. "Word would be all over the county in no time."

  "Not from Bartlett or Ackroyd, and they're the only ones I meant. Nor that Miss Comstock, though she ain't rightly speaking a servant. Those three, they're all too proud to gossip, and too fond of Eve. No need to tell the daily help, or them in the dairy and the stables."

  "Are you certain, Mosely?" Chas said, doubtfully.

  "Sure as I'm sittin' 'ere, sir. Your niece was a favorite, both in London and at Fallowfeld. There's no one in Master Jamie's employ who don't love 'er...him. Damme! I'll be glad when we get this whole affair straightened out, beggin' your pardon, Major."

  "So will I," James agreed. "Are you sure you still have that special license, Chas?"

  "Safe in my pocket, Jamie. And stop fidgeting. We'll be at Elmwood this time tomorrow."

  "And none too soon," James said mournfully. "I may not survive until then."

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Eve, when you have finished with the accounts, I wish you to take the children out for a walk. They have been confined inside by the inclement weather for so long that they are quite driving me to distraction. Oh, and Alfred wants you to stop by the stables and order his horse for this afternoon."

  Eve looked up at Charlotte, standing in the doorway of the library. "I am sorry, Charlotte, but it will be this afternoon before I can take the children out. Alfred has given me other tasks today and I will not be finished with them for several hours."

  She saw Charlotte's mouth firm into a straight line and sighed as the older woman stalked away.

  Oh, my. I have done it again. Charlotte will now go to Alfred and complain and he will order me to obey her. Then tomorrow he will rip up at me for not finishing these accounts.

  And so he did. "Eve, I cannot see why you have so much trouble finishing the simple tasks I set you. Why, any competent secretary would have finished the h
ousehold accounts in plenty of time to write those letters I dictated yesterday. I declare, you are getting more and more inefficient every day, girl, until you are hardly worth the food it takes to keep you. It is a good thing you said that you would never again mention being paid for your work, for you are certainly not worth a ha'penny's salary."

  "Alfred, Charlotte sent me out to walk the children yesterday, if you will recall, before I had finished the accounts. If I were not incessantly interrupted in my secretarial duties, I would have no trouble completing them. You must make up your mind whether I am to be your secretary or your children's governess, for I cannot be both."

  "Don't' be impertinent, girl. Charlotte does not expect you to be a governess. Why, she only asked you to do her a small favor."

  Eve sat back waiting. And was not disappointed when he slipped into his usual rebuke.

  "I should think you would be grateful for the opportunity to make yourself useful to my wife, for her kindness and forbearance in taking you back after you made such a muddle of your high-flown career ambitions. If you cannot do all that is asked of you, perhaps I should after all replace you with a male secretary. Of course, then I could not afford to house and feed you. If you were not so selfish that you refuse to sign your inheritance over to me, it would be different. But how you expect me to provide you with the luxuries of life without recompense is beyond me. No, my girl, if you wish to stay in this house, you will either work for your keep or pay your way."

  Despite being accustomed to Alfred's lectures, Eve clenched her fingers so tightly around the pen she was using that its point split and a blot of ink sprayed across the paper she was writing upon.

  Her uncle saw what happened. "Good God, girl! Can you not even write without making a mess of things? Paper costs money, don't you know? You will have to recopy that letter and I did want it to go out with the rest of today's post. Now you will have to carry it to the village, for the messenger is ready to depart. Hurry, can't you!"

  Eve started a fresh copy of the letter, biting her lip to keep from exploding her anger at Alfred. How had she endured his constant carping before?