"Eve, I know you feel that you can handle just about anything, but promise me that you will write if things do not go well for you at Fallowfeld. I worry about you being so far away. At least in Town, you can always come to me, or to Mrs. Storridge, if you have problems. In the country, you will have no refuge."
"I promise, Tom. Thank you for being such a good friend. But you need not worry about me. Mr. Quinton is truly a fine person and is very kind to me."
"You never know," Tom said glumly. "Write to me, won't you?"
Eve agreed and opened the door of the hackney. "Goodbye, Tom. Take care of yourself," she called, and jumped down, not wanting to let him see she was reluctant to part from her only friend.
Eve's tasks multiplied in the days before the household's removal to Fallowfeld. She was required to make arrangements for daily messengers to and from the country estate so that no business details were neglected. It took her nearly an entire day to compose and send all the letters notifying Quinton's friends and business associates that he would be out of Town for the next four months. Quinton left the house Saturday morning, assured she had all preparations well in hand, and had not returned on Sunday. Eve thought she knew where he had gone and found that the knowledge caused her pain.
The departure from London, originally planned for Monday morning, was delayed when a note was handed to Eve at breakfast. It was from Quinton. It informed her that he and Mosely were unexpectedly engaged for the morning and that she should inform Bartlett that their departure would be delayed until sometime in the afternoon. Eve notified the butler of the delay, saw Emile and his companions off in a fourgon, and went into the library to read, hopefully having no more duties until they arrived at Fallowfeld.
When Quinton finally arrived, looking tired and angry, it was nearly noon. Mosely, too, had a tightness about his mouth, showing his irritation. Eve was informed Quinton had been forced to settle a problem with Lady Seabrooke before he could leave Town.
Once in the coach, he closed his eyes, saying he'd had had little sleep the night before and wished to nap for a while. Mosely's knowing wink in Eve's direction confirmed her suspicions as to where their employer had spent the past two nights.
Due to their late start, a lamed lead horse, and Quinton's irritability, the party was forced to stop for the night at an inn short of Chelmsford. Not a large hostelry, it boasted only two available bedchambers. Bart Coachman would sleep in the stables, but that still meant that Eve and Mosely would be forced to share a bed. Eve took a deep breath upon hearing the news and merely commented, "I hope you do not snore, Mr. Mosely."
Supper was less than pleasant, for Quinton was once again the stern and silent person whom Eve had first met. She and Mosely were also silent, not wishing to disturb the gentleman who sat in solitude at a table across the small common room.
Mosely's whispered, "Damn woman. Wish she'd leave the master alone," drew a quick smile of agreement from Eve.
"Is he always like this when he has to deal with her?" Eve whispered back.
"Aye. Or else 'e drinks too much. 'Twere better when she wouldn't 'ave anything to do with 'im. But now 'e's rich, she thinks she can cozen 'im into sharing the wealth, so to speak. Bitch!"
Quinton must have heard the last, as Mosely had allowed his voice to rise. He turned a quelling eye upon his two employees and they fell silent once again. Eve did not enjoy her dinner.
Quinton went to his chamber immediately upon finishing his meal. Mosely and Eve stayed on in the common room after dinner, sipping at mugs of ale. Eve, at least, was relieved to be free of Quinton's company, for his mood had been so black as to cast the entire room into a gloom. Screwing up her courage, she asked Mosely if he knew what the problem had been that morning.
"More of the same, lad," he replied. "'Er whorish Ladyship pledged a pile of her jewelry at a gaming 'ell on Saturday night. Drunk she was and not aware of what she was doing. When she sobered up Sunday and saw 'ow much she 'ad lost, she sent for 'Is Nibs to get it back for 'er. I got a message from Bartlett and chased 'im to ground last night at the Foggett's place. 'E was in a rare taking when 'e read 'er note. Then 'e couldn't find Lord Preston, 'im that 'ad the winnings, 'til this morning. That didn't improve 'is temper, neither. Nor did the draft for nearly five thousand pounds 'e gave Preston."
Draining his flagon, he waved for a refill. "I doubt 'e would have done it if the jewels was all 'is mother's, but some of 'em is family heirlooms she took when she left 'is lordship. 'Owsomever, Master Jamie took 'is revenge, for 'e kept the family baubles when 'e redeemed 'em.
"What a battle that was. I was out in the street and could hear her a'screaming. 'E told 'er 'e'd keep everything if she didn't shut 'er budget."
"Are the jewels so valuable, then?" Eve asked.
"Worth a pretty penny, I'd say. But it was the principle of the thing, you see, lad. Some of those jewels belong rightfully to Miss Penelope, and Jamie was determined to get 'em back for 'er."
"Why does her ladyship have such a hold over Mr. Quinton, do you know, Mr. Mosely?"
"She don't, not anymore. 'E let her get away with so much because she 'eld the jewels. She'd promised to turn 'em over when Miss Penelope made her comeout. 'E feared if she got too furious with 'im, she'd keep 'em. Now 'e's got them all, maybe 'e'll stop being so easy with 'er."
"I am not surprised he often seems somber, then. To have to deal with a terrible person like that--and his mother, too!" However much Eve disliked her Uncle Wilfred and Aunt Charlotte, she believed they were merely selfish and thoughtless. Mr. Quinton's mother seemed almost evil to her.
"God love you, lad! Master Jamie's not like that atall, not with them 'e's fond of, like Miss Penelope." Mosely laughed. "'E's mighty serious about 'is trading ventures, o'course. Now 'e's got no time for those who've scorned 'im in the past. But 'e's as kind and as good a man as you'll ever meet and that's a fact. Didn't 'e give me 'onest work, when many wouldn't 'ave even noticed I'd been 'urt in 'is employ?"
"How did he learn of it?" Eve asked, having been curious about Mosely's story since she first met him.
"Ah, that's a dull tale, lad. Ye'll not be wantin' to hear it." He gulped the last of his ale, looked inquiringly at Eve's tankard, and called to the buxom barmaid, "'Ere, lassie, we'll 'ave another round."
Despairing of her wits if she had to drink another pint of ale, Eve sought to distract Mosely with conversation so she would be able to pour most of her new tankard's contents upon the floor. "You said, Mr. Mosely, that you went to Miss Foggett's lodgings. Will you tell me about her? I saw her once in the park and was impressed with her beauty. Mr. Quinton must be very fond of her."
"More like 'e's fond of what she gives 'im. And pretty is as pretty does, lad. She's sweet enough to Master Jamie, all right and tight. But a right 'arridan she can be. Never so kind when the Master's around, she's that cruel when 'e ain't. I 'eard 'ow she took a quirt to 'er maid when the poor lass didn't bring 'er parasol quick enough to suit 'er. 'Er cook says she's a rare one when she gets in a tantrum. You want my opinion, she's cut from the same cloth as the old witch."
"What old...oh! You mean Lady Seabrooke?" Eve was amazed to hear Mosely's opinion of Prudence. "But if she is so bad as that, why does Mr. Quinton continue to keep her?"
"She don't let 'im see that side of 'er, lad. And 'Is Nibs, 'e ain't too clear sighted when it comes to the ladies, not 'aving 'ad much experience of the better sort. As long as the Foggett wench can turn 'im up sweet, 'e thinks the sun rises and sets in 'er. And she is mighty comely, I vow!"
"He told me once that all women were deceitful and grasping." After this long in his employ, Eve had come to consider Quinton a brilliant man. Now she was hearing that he was blind where women were concerned. "Does he not see her for what she is?"
Mosely shrugged. "Maybe so, maybe not. As long as she has 'im by the ballocks, so to speak, 'e'll ignore that side of 'er. Ye'll find out soon enough, lad, that a clever woman can make a man be blind to 'er faults."
&n
bsp; "I hope not," Eve answered, with feeling. "Oh, Mr. Mosely, I so pity Mr. Quinton for never having known a kind and generous woman like my mother. And there are many, you know."
"Aye, that there are. And I'm that sorry for 'im, same as you. But I can't see what to do about it. 'E never seems to come in the way of any of the good ones." Mosely drained his tankard and stretched. "Drink up, lad. We'll be starting bright and early, so we'd better get some sleep."
Eve choked over the remains of her pint, what she had not surreptitiously dribbled onto the floor while Mosely was not watching her. She was going to have to share a bed with this man. How would she ever get into her nightshirt? Could she sleep in her clothing?
She followed Mosely up the stairs with panic knotting her stomach. It had been bad enough, using the men's necessary behind the inn. But at least she had been able to wedge the door closed and hold it from within.
Not for the first time, she sincerely regretted her masquerade.
Events favored her, however, for Mosely went outside to blow a cloud before he retired. Eve hurried into her nightshirt. By the time Mosely was back in their room and undressing, Eve was pretending sleep, wedged on the far side of the narrow bed against the wall. Her pretense soon gave way to the real thing and she slept surprisingly well, considering her circumstances.
"Wake up, lad. It's well past dawn." Mosely's voice was gruff in her ear. Pulling her face from her hard pillow, she raised her head and looked to the side. Mosely was just climbing out of bed and she realized he had slept naked. A wave of embarrassment swept over her. Averting her face as he pulled on his breeches, she scrabbled at the foot of the bed for her clothing.
He seemed to ignore her as she sat on the bed and worked her trousers on under the nightshirt. Now what? she thought as she fastened them at her waist. I cannot remove the nightshirt. Could I wear it instead of a shirt? She looked up to see Mosely watching her curiously.
He winked. "No 'urry, lad. I'll get out of yer way and ye'll have more room to move around." He pulled the shirt over his hairy chest and ran his hands through his hair. "There, now. 'Is Nibs'll be wanting an early start, so don't dawdle."
Eve breathed a sigh of relief as he left the room. She jumped from the bed and leaned against the door. She was relieved to see it could be secured against entry from without. Quickly stripping off her nightshirt, she completed her morning ablutions, then donned the undershirt she had made from the petticoat, pulling its laces painfully tight. Then her outer shirt. Once dressed, she relaxed. She was once more safe from discovery. By the time Mosely returned, she had packed her portmanteau and was ready for breakfast, elated at having got through so difficult a time with such ease.
Quinton was in a better mood this day. "Do you ride, Eve?" he asked as the coach bowled along in the morning sunshine.
"I love to ride," she answered fervently. "But there has been no opportunity since coming to London. I used to ride with Chas, after he recovered from his wounds."
"You should have said something. I keep several hacks in Town, but rarely get the time to exercise them. Had I but known, you could have ridden with Mosely, saving me the expense of hiring a man to keep the hacks in trim."
"Perhaps it is just as well," Eve replied. "If I had been free to ride your horses, I might have neglected my work to do so. I would rather ride than anything."
"The work will still be there after you have ridden. Do not think I haven't noticed your diligence. There is no need for you to return to the library in the evenings under normal circumstances, Eve. If there is too much for you to do, tell me and I will get someone to assist you from time to time. Alan sometimes asked me to do so when the correspondence piled too high." He frowned at her. "Are you overworked, lad? Do I expect too much of you?"
Eve was stunned with his solicitude. She stammered a denial. "I have rarely been working in the evenings. Most of the time, I have been going through the files, reviewing the histories of your investments."
She looked at him shyly. "I hope you do not mind. I thought I should learn all I could about your affairs, so as to do better." She hoped he would not take her to task for so overstepping her bounds and was relieved when his face showed amazement and pleasure.
"Mind? On the contrary, I am delighted. Alan, excellent secretary that he was, did what he was told, but showed little initiative of that sort. Why you are already more valuable to me than he ever was! But I do not want you studying while we are at Fallowfeld. Make use of the stables whenever you wish, and amuse yourself as you will. Spend some time with Penny--she'll keep you from being overworked."
Hugging his compliment to herself, Eve sat in a happy daze all the rest of the way to Fallowfeld. He liked her work! She had proven herself. At the end of her three-month probationary period Quinton had merely told her that her work was satisfactory. He had been distracted when Eve reminded him of the date, news of the loss of a cargo having reached him the day before, so she had quietly thanked him and gone on with her work. Shy about asking his opinion of her abilities, Eve had never brought up the subject again. But she had never expected such praise.
Her lashes lowered, she watched him covertly as they rode along. Such a handsome man, she thought, and so kind. How she envied Prudence. And how she detested her!
Chapter Seven
To approach Fallowfeld, one drove along a short, curving drive through a stand of giant oaks. The modest house, built of mellow pink brick, was two storied, with ivy tracing over the walls. It stood on a slight rise, surrounded by gently sloping lawns and masses of shrubbery. On one side, Eve saw what appeared to be extensive rose garden in full and colorful bloom.
As the coach drew up before the porch, a red-haired girl came running down the steps. She drew to a halt and stood, bouncing from one foot to another, while its passengers descended. An older woman followed her at a more sedate pace.
"Oh, you are here at last, Jamie! I am so glad to see you! Thank you for having me. Such a beautiful house." She threw her arms about Quinton's neck as soon as he stepped from the carriage.
He hugged her briefly, then set her away from him. "What has become of my shy, quiet sister? Who is this little hoyden?"
His face lost its wide smile when he turned to the plain, gaunt woman standing quietly behind his sister. "Miss Comstock, I gather that you arrived safely," he said, bowing slightly.
"Yes, sir," she responded. "Though we were distressed to arrive here and find you absent. Had you problems on your trip from London?"
"Nothing to signify. Now, Penelope," he said to the girl who had taken his arm, "do stop tugging at me and mind your manners. Let me make you acquainted with my secretary, Mr. Dixon. Eve, this is my sister, Penelope. And her governess, Miss Comstock."
Eve bowed and murmured her pleasure at meeting the ladies. She noted there was a strong family resemblance between Miss Quinton and her brother, beyond their flaming heads. Both had the same level gray eyes and cleft chins, both were tall and slim. Unfortunately, the facial characters that made Mr. James Quinton so handsome were, on his sister, less than commonly pretty. She could almost be called plain, until her face lit up in a charming smile.
Penelope curtsied, but it was clear that her brother's secretary was less worthy of her attention than the gentleman himself. "What have you brought me from London, Jamie? When will we have a ball? May I choose my own gowns? Oh, Jamie, it is all so exciting. Are you really to bring me out in London next spring?"
She bounced in her excitement, until Quinton said, "We can speak of these things later, Penelope. Now it would behoove you to mind your manners. Shall we stand about in the drive all day long? Where is Ackroyd?"
"Here, sir," a plump, meticulously dressed individual answered from the doorway. "I shall have your baggage seen to immediately. I have put Mr. Dixon in the green chamber, near yours. Miss Penelope and her governess are, of course, in the other wing. Shall you wish to change before luncheon?"
Two footmen appeared from behind him and made short work of
removing the trunks and cases from the boot of the coach. "I trust you will find everything is in order, sir. Luncheon will be served whenever you wish." Eve had never seen so proper or stuffy a butler and she found herself wondering if his nose ever descended from its elevated position.
Quinton indicated that he did wish to change, so he and Eve followed the footmen carrying their trunks up the wide stairway to the first floor. Eve looked around her, admiring the interior of the house. Although smaller than Elmwood by far, it was quite modern and much more comfortable, decorated in a rather severe, but tasteful, style. The corridor to the bedchambers was lit only by a large mullioned window at its end, but the white wainscoting along the walls kept it from being dark and gloomy as so many interior corridors were wont to be.
"Inform Ackroyd that we will dine in half an hour, please," Quinton told the footman. "Now, Eve, this will be your apartment. Your office is just across the hall. There is little room in the library so we have converted an unused chamber for that purpose. Mosely will sleep across there, next to the office, so this wing is entirely masculine. I hope you will be comfortable." He opened the door to the next room and entered, leaving her alone with the footman.
Eve's apartment was smaller than the one in Town and lacked a separate sitting room, but it was no less comfortable. She peered out the window, finding that, as she had suspected, she could see one end of the rose garden as well as the stables and a pond. The distant view was restricted by another copse of oaks, these even larger and more thickly crowded than the ones along the drive. She looked around the green painted room, admiring the walnut furniture and the pale green draperies framing the windows and about the bed.
A knock came on the door. When Eve answered, she found Ackroyd waiting. "Would you like someone to unpack your bags, sir?"
Oh, my! Am I to be treated as a guest?
"Thank you, Mr. Ackroyd," she said, not quite speechless with pleasure, "but I can manage," Eve assured him, thinking of the two gowns and other feminine apparel in the bottom of her trunk. She had not wanted to leave them in her room in Town, for fear they would be discovered. "I have not so many garments that it will be a difficult task. But I do appreciate the offer," she said, smiling.
The Anonymous Amanuensis Page 7