The Secretary (9 page)

She put her finger to the larger stack. “These are the documents from last week, but a new folio arrived this morning. I’ll begin working on it as soon as I’ve gone through the post.”

“Very well,” he said, and he sat down to read. Clarissa did the same, carefully tearing open each letter in the huge stack that had accumulated since Saturday. She sorted them into piles: one to go to the earl for approval or review, one to write regrets for, and one to discard outright. The second-to-last letter in the stack drew her attention.

“Lord Brougham would like you to meet him in his offices this afternoon,” she said after she had opened and read it. “At one o’clock. He requests you to bring Lord Sidney as well.”

Lord Stowe turned to her. “Does he say why?”

“No, My Lord.”

“Send an acceptance back immediately, and then send to Lord Sidney to be sure he knows.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Clarissa said, and she picked up her pen. When she had finished writing she sealed the letters and went to find a footman.

It was only after she returned that she worked up the courage to ask about his visit. “How did you find Miss Martin?” she asked as she sat back down to the Irish dossier.

“She seemed quite well. I invited her to join Lord Sidney’s party and me at the theatre tomorrow evening.”

“That was very kind of you, My Lord.”

He stopped reading and looked up at her. She finished the note she was writing and looked levelly back at him. “Listen, Ford, you’re not...courting her, are you?”

She prayed that she wasn’t blushing. “No, My Lord. Nor do I have any wish to. I have known her since we were very young.”

“I see. Well, good.” And he went back to his reading. Clarissa bent over her papers as well, heart pounding. So he thought Clarence Ford was courting Clarissa Martin? She smiled as she thought of what he would say if he knew how truly odd that would be.

The next afternoon the king at last deigned to visit Westminster to officially open the session. It was a long ceremony, the State Opening, and full of symbolism and tradition. The peers assembled in the Lords chamber to await the king, and as they did Anders noted that many of those who had been in Parliament for decades were absent. He understood. His first year, this ceremony had been thrilling. Last year he had looked on it with the benefit of experience, seeing its value but at the same time finding it rather repetitive. This year he found the whole thing rather tedious.

At last, the trumpets sounded the arrival of the king. He came in, Queen Adelaide at his side, with Lord Brougham, Earl Gray and the Duke of Norfolk following close behind. Brougham carried the red and white Cap of Maintenance on its white rod, and Norfolk held the great Sword of State. They all looked very serious.

“I hope none of them sneezes,” Leo murmured. Anders stifled a laugh.

Brougham and Earl Grey had taken their places on the dais, and at last the king, in his reedy voice, said, “My Lords, pray be seated.”

“About bloody time,” someone grumbled from behind Anders. He didn’t turn to see whom—he knew that many of the peers regarded this ceremony with the same jaundiced eye he was beginning to develop.

The peers watched with interest, however, when Black Rod marched out of the chamber and down the peers’ corridor. This year was Sir Augustus Clifford’s first turn as Black Rod, the usher who called the Commons to attend the king in the House of Lords, and everyone was eager to see how the illegitimate brother of the Duke of Devonshire would perform his duties.

“All he has to do is march down that corridor and get the door slammed in his face,” Leo muttered. “Doesn’t seem that difficult.”

“Do you think you could do it correctly?” Anders asked.

“No.”

“Me neither. All that ceremony.”

The slam of the door echoed down the long corridor. Then came three loud booms as Sir Augustus rammed the black rod for which his position was named against the door of the commons. They didn’t hear him call the members to attend the king, but he must have, for a few moments later Charles Manners-Sutton appeared looking suitably displeased. He paused at the Bar, followed by the other members of the Commons, until the room was full to bursting. The members bowed to the king, and Brougham presented him with the speech on folded vellum.

“Doesn’t look too thick,” Leo murmured.

“What do you say,” the Lord Beresford whispered from Leo’s other side, “five minutes?”

“Make it seven,” Leo whispered back, and the two shook hands. The king opened the vellum book and began to read.

After the speech, Anders and Leo wandered back to his office to go over their notes from their meeting with Brougham the day before. It had been productive, but both men wondered whether the Lord Chancellor wasn’t putting too much of his political clout behind the abolition measure.

“It isn’t like when they abolished slavery in England,” Leo said, looking up from the sheaf of papers Ford had carefully transcribed. “We’re talking about the colonies and the protectorates, where all the money to be made is in mines and plantations. There are a great many men who will fight tooth and nail against the abolition, mark my words.”

“Are you saying now that we should shelve it?” Anders asked, rather surprised by his friend’s harsh words. He had met those same men, of course, but yesterday Lord Brougham had made it sound as though he had found a way around them.

“No, just that there are other important things to be accomplished as well. It would be a shame if Brougham spent all his capital on this one thing, only to be overruled on Ireland or the Poor Laws.”

“Governing is about prioritizing,” Anders said. “If those things have to be pushed back to make way for abolition, I for one support it. There are many noble causes, but how can we be noble men when our fortunes are made off the backs of slaves?”

Leo sighed. “You’re right, of course. Still, I’m worried. Brougham isn’t looking well, and he’s not a young man any longer. I think he wants to get this thing finished before he is no longer healthy enough to pursue it as doggedly as he can now. But he mustn’t take risks. He will need all the support he can get.”

“Then let’s see to it that he gets it.”

“Agreed. Now, have you seen the latest about the Irish disturbances? Nasty stuff.”

“Ford left me a dossier before he went,” Anders said, scanning the neat stacks atop his desk until he found the folio marked “Ireland” in his secretary’s neat hand.

“Where is he, anyway?”

“I gave him the night off, seeing how I’ll be entertaining. It didn’t seem right to make him work while I’m off carousing.”

“You’ll hardly be carousing, Anders,” Leo said. “It’s just my mother and sisters.”

“And Miss Martin.”

“Oh, yes, how could I forget Miss Martin? Is she dining with us as well?”

“No, we’re picking her up on our way to the theatre.”

“For shame! You’re planning to court the woman and you won’t even feed her?”

“I’m not
courting
her, Leo. I...well, I like her. That’s all. She seems to lead a rather lonely life, and I thought it would be nice for her to escape that little flat for a while. I don’t think Martin left her with much, and she seems a decent girl. Besides, she told me she enjoys Shakespeare.”

“Is she smart?”

“As a whip,” Anders said. “Do you know she and I talked about Norwegian independence?”

Leo put a hand to his heart and threw his head back in mock dismay. “Oh, dear, he’s lost! A woman who enjoys Shakespeare and cares about Danish politics? We might as well scratch your name off my mother’s list now,” he laughed. When Anders glared at him he said, “Oh, all right. I can see you don’t want to discuss it. I’m going home to collect the ladies. Mind you’re home when we arrive. It wouldn’t do to be coming in from the office when your guests are in the drawing room.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Anders said. But after his friend had gone, he couldn’t resist sitting down for a few moments to read the dossier Ford had prepared. The man was a genius when it came to political matters. Anders was increasingly less worried that Ford would not live up to his expectations, and more concerned that the man would abandon him to run for his own seat in Parliament. In a way, it was too bad the Reform Act had passed, Anders thought.

If he could have, he would have bought Ford a seat himself.

EIGHT

Clarissa stood before the tiny mirror on her dressing table, trying to get a look at the whole of her dress at once. It was a fine thing, and she knew that she looked well in it, for she had seen herself in the full-length mirror in the back room of the Simms’s shop. But she was rather edgy this evening and she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something
wrong
with the gown, that the ladies who would be accompanying Lord Stowe to the theatre would laugh behind their fans when they saw her.

The gown had cost the rest of the sovereigns Lord Stowe had given her. Mrs. Simms had tried to get her to buy slippers as well, but she knew no one would be looking at her feet, and she said as much. “Really, Mrs. Simms, my slippers will do just fine,” she had protested, and thankfully the woman had relented. The shoes were an extravagance Clarissa could do without. But the gown was splendid. It was a beautiful pearly pink, with low shoulders and wide, puffed sleeves. Mrs. Simms had tutted at her lack of a corset, but the gown had laced up beautifully despite the fact that nearly a week of Mrs. Butterford’s breakfasts were beginning to take their toll.

Clarissa had been grateful when the earl had dismissed her before the session began. She had stayed to watch the ceremony from the public gallery but had come home immediately afterwards, which had given her time to curl and style her hair, as well. Now, as the clock struck nine, she slipped on the gloves she had stayed up late the night before to clean and picked up her mantle. Just a few moments later there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, a footman in the earl’s livery was waiting to escort her down.

Lord Stowe was waiting on the street. When he handed her into the carriage, she saw that it was empty. “Lord Sidney and his family are driving separately,” he explained. “It would have been a terrible crush with five of us.”

“I see,” she said, arranging her skirts. “This is a beautiful carriage, My Lord,” she added, looking about as though seeing it for the first time. It was one of the remarks she had practiced this afternoon, carefully designed to highlight Clarissa Martin’s short acquaintance with Lord Stowe. Clarence Ford might have ridden in the Stowe carriage, but she had not.

“It belonged to the previous earl,” he said as the carriage began to move. “I would have preferred something less ostentatious.”

“Yes,” she said. “I do not know you well, My Lord, but it seems to me that your tastes are rather...simpler than one might expect of an earl.” This was another of her carefully planned remarks, but she had added it to her list for a different reason. As Clarence Ford, she could not ask questions about the earl’s background and family. It was not a secretary’s place. But Clarissa Martin, whom the earl was seeing socially, could ask such personal questions without seeming rude. Now was the perfect opportunity to satisfy the curiosity she had been stifling for the last week.

“I
was
raised rather simply,” he was saying. “My grandfather was a country curate, you see, and after my father died my mother took me to live in his village in Devon. I was not even really aware that I was Viscount Landridge until I was sent up to Eton.”

“I see,” she said. “So you live simply now because that is how you were raised.”

“I suppose so.”

She nodded. “Tell me again which play we are seeing.”

“I believe I said it was
Two Gentlemen
, but I was wrong. It is
Twelfth Night
.”

“Oh,” she said. Of course. It would
have
to be that play.

“Have you read it?”

“I have. It is one of my favorites.”

“I haven’t. Tell me what it is about so I can pretend to have watched afterwards rather than spent the evening ogling the rest of the
ton
.”

“Is that really what you do at the theatre?”

“There’s rather too much chatter to enjoy the play, I find. But no, it is not what I do. I do
try
to watch. But tonight might be different, with you in attendance. If you tell me now what it’s about, then I can gaze at you all evening and not pay attention.”

“That was very pretty, My Lord,” she said, and he favored her with the mischievous grin of which she was becoming so fond. “Very well.
Twelfth Night
is about a brother and sister—twins—who are separated in a foreign land after a shipwreck. The lord of the land is an enemy of their father’s, so they both adopt disguises. The brother sets out in search of his sister, while she dresses herself as a man and enters the service of the lord himself. He sends her on several errands to the beautiful lady he is trying to woo, who ends up falling in love with the sister in disguise.”

“It sounds very complicated.”

“It’s Shakespeare,” she said, laughing.

“Does it end well?”

“As well as Shakespeare can. You will just have to watch and find out.”

“You do yourself a disservice, madam,” he said. “If you tell me the ending I may focus all my attention on your beauty. You do look quite ravishing in that gown, by the way.”

“Thank you, My Lord, but I believe one act’s worth of longing gazes may be all I can tolerate,” she said, inwardly congratulating herself on her pithiness.

He pretended to pout. “Oh, very well. But you only have yourself to blame.”

Clarissa clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. “How well I know it,” she said.

Anders wished with all his soul that the girl hadn’t cleaned up quite so nicely. In her everyday, worn gown she had looked pretty but no prettier than any other young lady of his acquaintance. In pale pink satin she looked angelic and irresistible. It was a mistake to have invited her here, he thought as the carriage stopped outside the theatre. But there was no turning back now. He handed her down out of the carriage and held out his arm for her.