Page 10 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
The first woman introduced herself as Irene. Irene Follett, she said. And the second, just Elizabeth. This gave him no indication which of them belonged to L.B., or what their relationship was. Nathaniel felt strangely haughty. Was L.B. trying to trick him? Was he playing him for a fool?
“So. Let me ask you. Where is the marvellous L.B.?” Nathaniel asked, walking towards the head of the table and perching upon the chair. As he did, one of the maids rushed forward and filled all three glasses before them with wine. Nathaniel cleared his throat, adding, “We’ll be needing a fourth glass, I suppose.”
The two women exchanged glances. Then, the shorter one—the one called Elizabeth, piped up. “Actually, we won’t require another glass. Thank you so much.”
Nathaniel tilted his head, peering at Elizabeth, whose eyes filled with light and humour. Nathaniel lifted his glass, a thought rising up in him. As he did, Elizabeth and Irene both brought their glasses into the air for a toast. Nathaniel’s lips twitched slightly as he spoke. “Cheers to both of you on this particularly chilly evening.” His eyes darted back towards the doorway as if he half-expected to find L.B. waiting for him, watching him. But there was no one there.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth offered, sipping a bit of wine. “Perhaps you already know Irene Follet.” She gestured towards the woman beside her. “Her father was a long-time owner of The Rising Sun. In recent years, she’s taken over as editor.”
Nathaniel’s eyes burned towards the woman, incredulous. Irene sipped her wine, matching his gaze. It seemed she had none of the tittering idiocy of the normal girls that his mother brought to him for dinner. He leaned back in his chair, turning his eyes towards Elizabeth.
“I see,” he said. “And what does that make you, Elizabeth?”
“Actually, my friends call me Bess,” the woman said, her smile stretching wider. “And for the previous years, I’ve worked as top secretary at The Rising Sun.”
“But, as you might be guessing, sir, that’s not the full story,” Irene said, not bothering to set her wine glass back on the tablecloth. Her eyes turned from Bess, to Nathaniel, and back again.
“As secretary, you must have a good sense for the wordsmiths that contribute to the newspaper,” Nathaniel said, lifting a single eyebrow high.
“Certainly, sir,” Bess said.
With terrible timing, the cook’s assistants scurried into the dining room with their platters of food, pouring helpings onto the two women’s and Nathaniel’s plates. Nathaniel gazed, half-stumped, at the orange yams as they piled up. His initial thought—that one of the women could possibly be the writer of such colossal essays—was foolish. He knew that, now.
“Please, enjoy,” he said, addressing the women. “Although, I dare say, I’m quite upset that L.B. didn’t make his appearance tonight. I so wanted to go over his writing abilities. Perhaps he’s told you, I’m running for Parliament. I stumble and falter when writing the speeches. I can’t possibly squeeze out the meaning L.B. does. The way he uses words is absolutely striking. It’s almost pure poetry. If, of course, he wasn’t speaking in insults about me, I might read them more often.” Nathaniel half-laughed at this joke, wondering if it sounded pathetic to pick fun of one’s self. Even in front of these little nobody women, he still half-regretted his words.
It was just like his mother said: he so craved being alone, in the woods, with only his dog Barney at his side. He wanted nothing more. He felt suddenly like a fish out of water, completely out of his element. He stared at the women, waiting for them to respond.
Irene turned her eyes towards Bess, smirking. Nathaniel felt sure they were picking fun of him. He set his fork back on his plate and drew his fists to the top of the tablecloth, peering down at them. Bess continued to stare at her uneaten turkey. The air was thick with tension, but Nathaniel couldn’t be certain of why.
“So, tell me,” Nathaniel scoffed. “Because I can’t take it any longer. Why on earth did L.B. send you two instead of coming himself? Is this some kind of joke he’s trying to play on me? Did he tell you that he’s done making a mockery out of me on paper and wanted to, instead, make a mockery of me in person? This is really low, even for someone like L.B. Really, incredibly low …”
Lengthy silence followed. Nathaniel’s tongue felt heavy. He so yearned to blare that the women were required to leave, that they were no longer welcome. But he could already sense that, given that action, L.B. might write something even more damaging to his career. He felt trapped by this horrendous man.
Finally, Irene spoke.
“You must know that L.B. would never want to make a fool of you,” she began. Her fork slid out over her yams, then stabbed into them. She wasn’t eating much, either, but she’d already taken a hunk from her turkey—as opposed to Bess, who remained staring at her food.
“I can’t know that. I can only know that he’s made me the laughing stock of this city, in the past weeks. And now, when I offer him an invitation to my home, and he accepts it …” Nathaniel scoffed.
Nathaniel sensed a bit of scuffling beneath the table. Perhaps one of the women had kicked the other, although he couldn’t be quite sure. As a result, Bess turned her eyes back to Nathaniel. Again, they were filled with light, with humour.
“What is it? What is going on in this house?” Nathaniel demanded, feeling as though all the answers were far above his head.
“Come ON, Bess,” Irene sighed, drawing her fingers across her cheek.
“Perhaps it should be you who tells me, Irene. For you’re the editor of The Rising Sun, no? It must have been you who hired this L.B. character to write for you. It must be you who knows his identity, if there’s anyone …” Nathaniel said.
Bess finally brought her chin upward. Nathaniel was surprised at the quick motion and returned his gaze to the woman before him. Again, her fork twirled over her turkey without diving in.
“Your speeches, sir. They show that you’ve spent the majority of your life outside the realm of politics, no?” Bess began, her eyes darkening.
Nathaniel scoffed. “I see you’ve been reading a few too many L.B. articles yourself, my lady.”
Bess continued as if she hadn’t heard, “It’s remarkable to see a man of your stature and intellect march around on stage as if he’s never taken the floor. What is it you’re demanding of these people, Lord Linfield? It seems to me you’re meant to be demanding their trust. But why on earth would they trust you when you cannot even link three sentences together without looking like it’s the end of all times?”
“I don’t know what has gotten into you, Lady Bess, but it’s clear that you’re outside the bounds of reason …” Nathaniel began angrily.
But at that moment, Bess bolted up from her chair. Nathaniel realised for the first time that she was sweating. A bead of sweat trailed down from just above her ear, at her hairline. He tossed himself back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He waited as Bess drew her eyes back to his.
