The Secretary Read Online Free PDF Page A

Lords?”
    “Since my uncle passed away two years ago. I took his seat, you see, along with the title. This will be my third session.”
    “Do you attend the entire session?”
    “I do,” Anders said, trying not to be offended by the question. He knew that most peers his age—indeed, most peers of any age—did not take their seats in the House, but he could hardly help that. If he did not have organizational skills or the ability to devote himself to many tasks at once, he did have a sense of duty, on which he prided himself.
    “And do you have an office at Westminster as well as this one?”
    Anders laughed at the slightly apprehensive tone of Ford’s voice. “I do, but don’t worry, Ford, this is the only disaster you’ll have to deal with. I do most of my thinking here, in this study, and take only what I need to my rooms at Westminster. You’ll see why when we go there.”
    “Very good, My Lord. Your political views I have mostly ascertained from your writings,” Ford said, inclining his head toward the neat piles on the table, “but there is one more thing I would like to know, if you’ll permit me.”
    “Of course.”
    “Where do you stand on the slavery question?”
    Without hesitation, Anders said, “I am for complete and total abolition.”
    Ford nodded silently.
    “Does that satisfy you?” Another silent nod. Anders sighed. “Very well. Explain to me how you have organized these papers,” he said, gesturing to the table.
     
    It was nearly midnight when Clarissa finally left Stowe House. When Phelps shut the door behind her she felt a momentary twinge of fear at the thought of walking home alone in the dark, but then she remembered that she was not Clarissa Martin but Clarence Ford, nondescript secretary. It was ten minutes’ walk back to her flat on Trevor Street, and she set out at a brisk but natural pace. She would not draw attention to herself. She had managed not to do so all day.
    Indeed, she mused as she made her way past the elegant mansions towards the more modest part of Belgravia, she thought she had managed to fit in rather well. She knew that Lord Stowe had seen the bare patches on the elbows of her father’s suit, but she told herself that they were fitting for a secretary who had been out of work for almost a year. Anyway, with what he was paying her, she could afford to buy some new clothes. Six pounds a week! It was more than enough to pay back Mr. Parkhurst. Perhaps she would even throw in a little extra for her indulgent landlord. Clarissa knew how lucky she was to have found the little flat in Knightsbridge. When the constable had appeared on her doorstep with his hat in hand a year ago, bearing the news that her father had been killed so suddenly and terribly, she had discovered that the life of relative luxury they had lived had come at a heavy price. The rent on the house where they had lived near Piccadilly had been more than he could manage on his salary. There was next to nothing in the bank, and what little there was after the other debts had been paid off would have to be lived on for quite some time. The dresses and bonnets and shoes she had frivolously purchased had suddenly seemed a wasteful extravagance. Her father had been right when he had argued with her about them, and she had looked at them with loathing as she had piled them on the counter of a consignment shop, where she had sold most of the finer things, including some of her father’s wardrobe. But it still had not proved enough to support her. She had not been able to understand it at first. Her father had always seemed to her a man of great sense. But she had come to realize that he had been a man of great intelligence, which was not the same. Being a genius had not made him capable of making good choices. He had wanted to give his daughter the world, and to this day Clarissa still felt a deep stab of guilt in her heart when she thought of how much he had sacrificed to make her life happy and