Page 19 of Letters to a Wallflower
He saw her now, though, as he came into the room, moving steadily, even without his cane. They shared a laugh over the Portland Vase and then he explained that he’d discovered the location of the previous editor of the Prattler. “I thought perhaps you would care to go with me, to question him.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. I would, indeed.” She was caught up, suddenly, in the thought of everything she had ever wanted to say to the man . . . and in moments, Ben was leading her out to his carriage. They settled in, it set off, heading south through the city—and Helen cast him a nervous smile.
“Adventure,” he reminded her. But he grew serious, perhaps recalling her words when they first met again. “You are safe in my hands, Helen. I will not allow anyone or anything to harm you again.”
Nodding, she made an effort to calm her nerves. “Your letter. I—thank you. I’m afraid I lost that brave girl I used to be, but I’m trying to make my way back to her.”
“Nor am I the same. I don’t believe either of us can go back, Helen. If we solve this puzzle, however, it will be easier for us both to go forward.”
Together. The word echoed between them, unsaid. But it was there. A shining possibility.
“Distract me from my nerves. Tell me about the army,” she whispered.
He did, sitting back and gazing outside the window at times, as if seeing the hot, dry landscape of the peninsula outside. Some of his tales were amusing. Some were sobering. At least one set her heart to racing.
“I knew you would excel at it,” she told him. “That strategical, logical brain of yours had to be an asset.”
Before he could reply, the carriage slowed.
He looked out. “Lambeth High Street. I asked the coachman to stop a way down from the printer’s shop. We can walk up and keep from alerting him.”
She nodded and climbed down with his assistance. Shaking out her skirts, she squared her shoulders and set out with him. They came around a slight bend and stopped to gaze at the sign, hanging above.
* * *
E. McKay
Handbills
Ads
Broadsheets and Pamphlets
Ben held the door and they entered. Two men worked behind the counter. The older one looked up as they entered. His face brightened in anticipation at the sight of the well-dressed couple, but his delight faded as he saw her face.
“Good morning, Mr. McKay,” Ben said quietly. “We should like to speak with you, sir.”
“Oh, no.” The erstwhile newspaperman shook his head. “Apologies. I have no time, today.” He glanced over at the younger man, who eyed him with surprise. “We’ve orders to fill. Perhaps another day.”
Helen stepped forward. “How disappointing. We had a special project to discuss with you, sir. It is of an epistolary nature. Your specialty, I understand.”
“No, no. Not at all. No time, in any case. Come another day.”
“Very well, sir.” She raised her chin. “Come, Mr. Hargrove. You will take me to the Swan’s Neck, will you not? I’m afraid we must go there and discuss our disappointment. Loudly, and to anyone who will listen. I suspect there will be people there who might be interested in a local businessman’s past.”
The man’s shoulders dropped. “Ah, well, then. I suppose I can spare a moment. Let’s go into my office.”
They stepped past the counter and into a tiny space, furnished with a small desk, two chairs and a number of cabinets. McKay gestured for Helen to take a seat. With a glance at Ben, he crossed behind the desk and sat down. Swallowing, he looked directly at her. “I know who you are. I know it does no good now, but I am sorry.”
“It is too late for your words to make a difference now, sir. But you could perhaps make reparations by telling us what we need to know.”
“No. I’m sorry, but I cannot.”
“We have yet to ask a question.” Ben sounded exasperated.
“I know what your questions are. And I cannot answer.”
Helen leaned in. “I need to know who gave you those letters, sir.”
