The Anonymous Amanuensis

by Judith B. Glad

  Before she had finished the letter, Charlotte's whining voice interrupted her. "Alfred says you will be free to mark the hem of my new ballgown as soon as you return from the village, but it had better not take you long to go and return. You should not bother to change into your habit for the ride, so as to return sooner. No one will see you anyway."

  As Eve was about to answer her aunt, Alfred's voice was heard from the corridor. "Tell her she will have to finish the rest of the letters this evening, while we are at dinner, Charlotte. Just because she has some trifling favors to do for you does not mean she is excused from her duties."

  "Did you hear that, Eve?" Charlotte said.

  "Yes, Charlotte, I heard. And yes, Charlotte, I will hurry. And yes, Alfred, I will work through the dinner hour. Not that it matters, for I would not be allowed to come down for dinner while there are guests in the house," Eve muttered as she folded the letter and put its direction on the outside.

  "What was that you said, girl?" Charlotte whined. "Are you being impertinent?"

  "Not at all, dear aunt," Eve replied. She rose from the desk and stretched. "I was merely repeating your instructions. I shall ride as fast as I can to the village and should be back to pin your hem right after you have finished your luncheon."

  Eve kicked the horse into a gallop on the way to the village, ignoring the expanse of leg that showed below her hiked-up skirt. She got so little time to ride any more, for Charlotte and Alfred seemed to feel they must fill her every waking moment with work. For a few moments, as she sped along the road, she forgot the indignities and injustices of her situation and enjoyed the feel of the horse beneath her.

  One of the four horses Chas had left at Elmwood, Captain, had stood idle, except for infrequent exercise by a groom, during her absence. His capriciousness as she had struggled to mount him today showed that his manners needed correcting, but she had not the time to do it. Eve was surprised Alfred had so allowed Chas' horses to be neglected. She supposed her miserly uncle had not been inclined to allow his overworked grooms to spend much time on any but his own cattle.

  Chas. How she missed him. If only he were here, instead of in London.

  I will not think of where he is staying in London. I will not!

  She was so tired of being at the beck and call of her uncle and aunt, of having no one to talk with, to laugh with. Chas would not stay at Elmwood for long, but even a few week's respite from boredom and loneliness would be welcome.

  Eve now regretted crawling back to Elmwood as she had. She still did not know if she had done the right thing, but at the time she had not felt strong enough to face the uphill battle that would be hers in London. The first time she went into a registry office to inquire about a position, she would have burst into tears at the slightest provocation. Indeed, so low had been her spirits that she had wept through much of the long journey from Fallowfeld.

  Her welcome had not been warm. Eve had contained her pride and apologized abjectly to Charlotte and Alfred for leaving them. She had even admitted that she had met with failure in London.

  Of course, she had not told them of her employment by Quinton, but only that her search for work had been futile. Charlotte had made several remarks imparting her suspicions that Eve had had a number of immoral adventures in London, but had never come out and actually accused her of improper behavior. Alfred had only required that Eve assure him she would not again go haring off to again in search of her fortune.

  At first they had rubbed on fairly smoothly together. For a while, Charlotte had treated her as a poor but somewhat welcome relation. Lately, though, her aunt's behavior toward her had become more humiliating, as if she expected Eve to kiss her hem in gratitude once a week.

  Somehow her life did not seem so hopeless as it had before her departure. No amount of humiliation could ever wipe out the memory those few months of joy when she had been in James Quinton's company almost daily. And the one night of ecstasy she had experienced with him had been worth a lifetime of servility and drudgery. Although she daily thanked God she had not conceived--that would have made her present position impossible--she also sometimes regretted not having James' child.

  If only it were not so difficult for her to keep her temper on a tight rein, when Alfred or Charlotte started on their complaints about the cost of keeping her at Elmwood. Perhaps she should sign her inheritance, meager as it was, over to Alfred, in exchange for his promise to provide her with a home for the rest of her life.

  No! Already her uncle and aunt were piling more and more tasks on her shoulders, tasks that should have been left to servants. Her inheritance she would keep in her own control. It was her only insurance that when or if Alfred's miserly streak got the better of him and he refused to house and feed her any longer, she would have the means to escape. And, she admitted to herself, the day could well come when her independent spirit could not longer maintain the necessary humble behavior her aunt and uncle required of her.

  The letter delivered, Eve did not gallop Captain back to Elmwood. She knew that if she were not to return quickly, she would have to miss her luncheon in order to avoid more of Charlotte's whining scolds. But the day was so fair and she wished to savor her few moments of freedom.

  How long had it been since she had ridden? Two weeks? Three? Perhaps if she arose before dawn, she could find an hour to ride, for her body demanded more activity than walking the children in the park or sitting hunched over a desk. No, for then Alfred would think she was lacking in tasks to keep her occupied and would find other work for her to do. She had better give up all thought of riding for pleasure, at least until Chas arrived.

  Eve was on her way to the attic, in search of a lettercase Alfred had decided he needed, when she heard screams from the schoolroom. She detoured and looked inside.

  She was just in time to rescue Lisabet's favorite dolly from little Wilfred's scalping knife or tomahawk--or was he a pirate today? Now the spoiled little brat was on the floor, kicking and screaming in a tantrum, while Lisabet continued sobbing, her dolly clutched to her breast.

  "What have you done to my son?" Charlotte demanded, flying into the room. At sight of her mother, the little girl's sobs developed into loud wails of distress and she ran across the room to clutch at her mother's skirts. Eve did not move from where she stood by Wilfred, her hands on her hips.

  "If you have struck my son, I will have Alfred beat you, Eve. What have you done to him? Wilfred, what did she do, my darling. What did the nasty girl do to my baby?"

  Wilfred, a calculating gleam in his eye, rolled to his feet. "She pushed me down, Mama, and it hurt me. And she took Lisabet's dolly away from her." His chubby face was all innocence as he mouthed the lies.

  Charlotte turned on Eve and struck her across the face, her rings tearing a small cut at the corner of Eve's mouth. Before she could continue her tirade, however, she was interrupted by a voice from the doorway.

  "Miss Eve, there is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you."

  Both Charlotte and Eve turned to face the butler, the children forgotten. "To see me?" Eve said. "Who is it, Johnson?"

  "A Mr. James Quinton, Miss. He said he had been acquainted with you in London. He is waiting in the blue salon."

  Eve's heart leapt in her breast and she started for the door. But Charlotte halted her advance with a tight grip on her arm. "There must be some mistake, Johnson. No one from London would call to see Eve. I shall speak to the gentleman."

  "But the gentleman specifically asked to see Miss Eve," Johnson protested, before Eve could.

  "I am mistress here," Charlotte said, "and I will decide to whom callers may be allowed to speak. Stay here, Eve. I will deal with you later. Johnson, call Maddy and have her come to take the children to the nursery. And do not leave Eve alone with them. She might do them harm."

  She swept from the room, only to put her head back inside and say, "Oh, and Johnson, you will not allow Eve to leave this room until I have returned, if you value your position. I wish
to have words with her."

  Johnson turned a sympathetic eye upon Eve. "I'm sorry, miss. I should have waited until you were alone. Will you stay here while I get Maddy?"

  "Of course, Johnson. It does not matter anyway," Eve said. There was no place she could go, if she were to escape. She turned to the window leaned her head against the cold glass.

  Wilfred's smug "My mama will have you beaten for being so mean to me, Eve," fell upon uncaring ears.

  Eve stared blankly out of the window for a long time. Her mind was as empty as her stare, for at the news that James was here, at Elmwood, the frozen shell around her heart had again expanded to fill her entire being. She scarcely heard Maddy come and fetch the children or Johnson return to check that she was still in the room. She ignored the raised voices sounded from downstairs, voices speaking words she could not understand, although she recognized anger driving them. A little later she heard pounding footsteps on the stairs, followed by the sound of one door after another being thrown open then slammed shut. And she did not care.

  "Eve!"

  At the familiar, beloved voice she came to herself again. She turned slowly. It was he, gray eyes flashing and scowl in place.

  James rushed across the room to where Eve sat, staring at him as if he were an apparition. He caught her by her shoulders, wanting to pull her into his arms and smother her with kisses. Instead he shook her until her teeth clicked.

  "Damn it, Eve! She said you did not wish to see me! Why?"

  "Stop, please stop," she cried. "You're hurting me." She twisted her shoulders out of his grasp as he stopped shaking her.

  "I did not...She would not let me..." Her voice dwindled off into silence, her hands made ineffectual fluttering motions between them.

  He grabbed them and held tightly, aware of their almost imperceptible tremble. "Damn it, Eve, you look like the devil! What have you been doing to yourself? And why is your lip bleeding?"

  "You did it again," was all she said. "Twice."

  "What? I did what again?"

  "You said 'damn it, Eve.' I told you I was tired of people saying that to me."

  "Idiot! As if that had to do with anything. Have you been ill?" he searched her eyes, wishing he could see what thoughts hid behind them. But before she could answer him, both Charlotte and Alfred burst into the room, followed by Chas, whose grin held unholy glee.

  "Chas! You are here too?" She sounded happy to see her uncle, at least.

  "How dare you make free of my house, sir!" Alfred demanded as he approached. "My wife told you that you were not welcome here and as a gentleman you should have left at once."

  "Shut up." James spoke without taking his eyes from Eve's face. Alfred's mouth dropped open at the curt command.

  "Johnson!" Charlotte cried from behind her gaping husband. "Johnson, where are you?"

  "Here, madam," the butler answered from the open doorway.

  "Johnson, I demand that you put this...this person out of the house this instant!" As Johnson was close to sixty and slight, while the gentleman whom he had been told to eject was young, tall, and muscular, Johnson quite naturally hesitated.

  James ignored the others. "Eve, I have been miserable since you left," he said, setting his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to stand quietly. "I owe you more than an apology. I was angry. Frustrated. It was a damnable situation! And I wronged you cruelly. Will you come back?"

  "No, sir, I cannot," Eve whispered.

  He shook her again, gently. "You must."

  "No." Eve tried to pull her hands from his but James held them tightly. "Please, sir, release me. I cannot return, for I have vowed I will never again take up my masquerade. And it would not be possible, otherwise."

  "What masquerade?" Alfred, briefly rendered speechless, seemed to have rediscovered his bluster. "What is all this? How do you come to know my niece? And what gives you the right to come bursting into my house without a by-your-leave and demand to see her? Get out, sir, before I call for reinforcements and have you thrown out."

  "I knew that she had been up to no good in London," Charlotte whined. "He's probably one of the men she dallied with, the slut. Alfred, how can you allow me to be exposed to such indelicacy?" She lifted a limp hand to press upon her forehead. "I feel faint."

  "You shut up as well," James said over his shoulder. "Eve, I asked you what happened to your lip."

  "Oh, it is nothing. Merely an accident. Mr. Quinton, please do go away, for you are only making my position here more untenable."

  "Damn it, Eve," he swore, then chuckled at her outraged expression. "It seems that I cannot speak to you in any other terms. I think you misunderstand me. I am not asking you to return as my secretary."

  "Not your secretary? Then why..."

  James dropped her hands and turned to face the others in the room. "Sir Alfred, Lady Charlotte, if you will leave us alone for five minutes, I think I can assure you that you will never see me again. If you do not go, you will find that I am capable of forcing you both through that door. Chas, will you escort your relatives elsewhere?"

  Alfred stammered and blustered, but Charlotte quailed before the force of James's personality. She went willingly with Chas, who had taken an arm of each and pushed them toward the door.

  "You do what Jamie says, Eve," he said, before he pulled it shut behind him.

  Eve broke free and attempted to follow. James caught her as her fingers touched the knob.

  He kicked angrily at the closed door, then leaned against it, preventing her escape. "Now, Eve, perhaps we will have a few moments' peace so I may convince you to obey Chas and come with me."

  Eve shook her head, unable to speak. Everything is happening too quickly. I don't know what to do. I only know what I want to do may be an irreparable mistake.

  "Oh, yes. You will, my dear, for you have no choice. There is not another person in England with your peculiar set of qualifications and you must come back to me. Of course, we cannot have Miss Eve Dixon, a young lady, replacing Mr. Eve Dixon, a gentleman, as my secretary. I think you will have to change your name. Yes, that will do the trick, I think. What shall your new name be, I wonder?"

  "I will not return as your secretary sir," Eve said firmly, "and I would never consider changing my name, even if I were to do so. That would be simply a masquerade of a different sort."

  "Not if you changed it to Quinton."

  "To Quin...No. No. No!" Eve covered her face with her hands. "Oh, please sir, do not tease me. I cannot bear it." How can he be so cruel?

  James took her into his arms. "Oh, my love. I did not mean to hurt you so. What I am offering is not employment, unless you consider being mistress of my heart to be such. I want you, Eve. I want you to be my wife. Until you left me, I never realized how much I loved you.

  "Nay, not even then, for I was merely miserable for a long time after you'd gone. It took Chas to make me see that I was incomplete without you. He forced me to look into my heart and see what I should have realized long since."

  "If this is my uncle's doing, then you are offering out of a sense of obligation. I cannot accept, though I am aware of the honor you do me."

  "Obligation be damned. I want to marry you because I cannot live without you."

  His sudden and passionate kiss almost convinced Eve.

  "When you left Fallowfeld, I was furious with you and with myself. Later I was overwhelmed with guilt. Miserable. I could not work. Could not think. Penny went to Seabrooke at Christmas because she could not abide living in the same house with an ogre--her very words--any longer."

  Another kiss, this one gentle and questing. Eve stiffened her resolve. James' finger under her chin forced her to look up into his face.

  "Finally I told Chas the tale," he said. "He forced me to question why I had felt such desire for you and made me realize it was more than desire. Damn it, Eve. I'm telling you that I love you!"

  The coldness in her breast dissolved and her soul was warm for the first time in months. Still not quit
e believing in her good fortune, she touched his lips with her fingers. He did not move. But in his eyes she read the truth.

  Eve doubted no longer. She raised her mouth to his, letting her action tell him silently what her heart had said so many times.

  A long time later, she pulled away and looked again into his face. "I must warn you, James, if you say 'damn it, Eve' one more time, I may be tempted to violence," she said, "which would not be proper wifely behavior." Her eyes sparkled into his and she pressed the length of her body against him.

  "Never again." he vowed, and captured her mouth with his in a kiss that promised more than words.

  THE END

  About the Author

  On her way to a career as a writer, Judith B. Glad made a lot of detours--into motherhood, short-order cooking, accounting, management, graduate school, botanical consulting. Eventually she decided she had to write those books that had been growing in her head for years-romances all. She believes every story should have a happy ending, even if it requires two or three hankies to get there.

  After growing up in Idaho-the locale of several of her books-Judith now lives in Portland, Oregon, where flowers bloom in her yard every month of the year and snow usually stays on the mountains where it belongs. It's a great place to write, because the rainy season lasts for eight months-a perfect excuse to stay indoors and tell stories. Judith has four children, all grown, three granddaughters and a grandson, and a husband who admits he reads her books.

  Visit Judith's webpage at www.judithbglad.com to learn more about her other books. While you're there, take some side trips to view early 20th century picture postcards, read about 5,000 ways to earn a living, or see what a Mentzelia really is.

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