Page 24 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
Deep into the afternoon, as the sun began to tilt over the rooftops, Bess finished writing the essay. She blinked at the window, incredulous that time could have passed so quickly. She’d given herself over fully to the beauty of this creation, had lost herself in the words.
Across the office, the other employees had begun to squander their time, bantering amongst one another and leaving their quills to rot. With all of Bess’s secretarial responsibilities completed, Bess rose and took tentative steps toward Irene’s office. When she reached the doorway, Irene shot a single finger into the air. “One moment!” she cried.
Irene made several last jolts with her pen across the pages before her before blinking up, looking as though she was a full hallway away, rather than just a few feet. “Oh, it’s just you.” Irene sighed. “I thought surely you were one of those imbeciles I hired out there. You know, it’s really true. Everyone says that only a man can write, read, work. But people are more apt to read our writing, Miss Bess, than any of the other writers at this publication. Sure, they don’t know you’re a woman. But shouldn’t the writing speak for itself? And in fact, it does …”
Irene blabbered on for a few moments as Bess clipped the door closed behind her. She pressed her finger against her lips, allowing her shoulders to drop. “Please, keep your voice down about that.” Bess sighed.
“Oh, Bess. Come on.” Irene sighed back.
“You know as well as I do that having my name tossed around this city again won’t result in good press for the paper,” Bess said.
“It was years ago, now, Bess,” Irene said, her voice low. “You don’t have to let it haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Bess paused for a moment. Everything within her hesitated, wanting to blare out to Irene that she was incorrect. That she could never, ever, not in a million years forget what had happened. Couldn’t forget that her father and her fiancé had gone above her head, working together to swindle a large number of their peers with the tale of that horrific falsehood.
How was it possible that she could have believed them?
How had she been so stupid?
With Conner’s cunning business smarts and her father’s greed, they were a recipe for disaster. And Bess had been too in love, floating in the air, somewhere above the clouds, to readily notice. At least, she hadn’t noticed until it had been too late.
“Anyway, what was it you wanted to say?” Irene sighed, crinkling her lips.
“I wondered if I might take my leave early this evening,” Bess said.
“Any reason?” Irene asked.
“It’s terribly selfish, the reason, if I may be so bold to say,” Bess said. She leaned closer to Irene, allowing herself to giggle slightly. “It’s just that I finally have this pay cheque from you-know-who. And I’d like to do something with it.”
“Don’t tell me,” Irene said, her eyes gleaming. “The shoes.”
“You know me too well.” Bess sighed, rolling her eyes in a playful way.
“Go on,” Irene said, pointing towards the grey evening. “Please. If you don’t buy yourself those shoes that you’ve been eyeing for the past, I don’t know, six months? A year? I’ll boot you out of this office myself.” She paused, cutting her teeth over her lower lip.
Bess’s heart swelled. “Just another thing,” she said, tilting her head. She stretched her fingers across the door, preparing to press it open. “Lord Linfield just stopped by the offices. I, of course, intercepted his arrival, not wanting any of the writers to see him.”
“Again, always hiding from the truth,” Irene said.
“Anyway,” Bess said, ignoring her comment, “I’ve offered my services in helping him present himself better. You know, using some of the tactics we learned as debutantes. How to speak properly. How to get himself out of embarrassing situations …”
“So, all the things he seems entirely incapable of doing?” Irene said, tittering.
“I don’t think he’s incapable. I just simply think he’s nervous. You remember the first few months when we were debutantes, don’t you?” Bess said. “Gosh, I was such a girl, back then. So bright-eyed and optimistic. I didn’t think anything in the world could hurt me.”
The words rang out for a moment. Bess wished she could snatch them back into her mouth. She wasn’t seeking pity. She was simply more emotional, perhaps, in the wake of these fresh events: becoming a writer for the first time, and interacting with such a handsome, pompous man.
“Anyway. You were about to ask me something?” Irene asked. “Something about, perhaps, accompanying you …”
“If it isn’t too much trouble,” Bess said, allowing her chin to drop. “Tomorrow evening. At his estate.” After a pause, she added, “I’ll split some of the money with you, of course. I know it’s entirely out of line to demand so much attention from you.”
Irene began to shuffle papers on her desk, sweeping her curls behind her ear in an abrupt motion. Bess watched, aghast at the ferocity of her motions. When Irene spoke, however, she did it with good humour, showing Bess that she hadn’t anything to worry about. That she could ask anything of Irene, at any time.
That Irene was essentially the only family she had in the world.
“I would give anything to be there, Bessie.” Irene chuckled. “Anything to see that look in your eye again.”
She crafted another pile of papers on the corner of the desk, whirling towards another. Bess began to press upon the door of the office, sweat pooling at the base of her neck.
