Page 20 of Letters to a Wallflower
His shoulders hunched, but he said nothing.
They all sat silently for a moment before Helen drew a ragged breath. “You don’t know me, sir. You didn’t know me then. Not the least thing about me. It didn’t stop you from writing terrible accusations against me. It didn’t stop you from accusing me of sin and unsavory behavior.” She glared. “You destroyed the course of my life. The least you can do is explain why and how.”
“I didn’t write those articles,” he whispered.
“You published them,” she returned.
“Yes, to my shame. I didn’t want to do it, but I had no choice. I cannot say more. I shouldn’t have said so much.”
“Of course.” Ben sounded sardonic. “We have heard of your vaunted, journalistic integrity.”
“I gave my word of honor not to speak of it.”
Helen allowed her face to convey what she thought of his honor.
McKay stiffened. “I could not speak, even should I wish to. I signed a binding agreement, when I turned over the Prattler. I may not reveal anything about the matter.” He gestured. “If I break the agreement, I lose this shop.” He sighed. “It’s a step down in the world, but it is all I have.”
He did not give them time to contemplate his lowered circumstances. “If you will excuse me, I must get back to work. If you want answers to your questions, you must ask them of the new owner and editor of The London Town Prattler.
Ben stepped forward. “And who is the new editor?”
McKay shook his head.
Helen stood. “You disappoint me, Mr. McKay.”
He had the grace to look shamefaced. “I fear you lead a long line, Miss. But I am trying to improve myself. I sincerely hope you will be the last person I disappoint.”
Too upset to reply, she turned and walked out, not stopping to wait for Ben until she’d reached the pavement outside. Her mind churning, she took his arm and they returned to the carriage.
Ben spoke quietly to the coachman before climbing in and settling in across from Helen. “I asked him to get us back as quickly as possible. I don’t want you to be late, especially after we wasted our afternoon.” He could not keep the bitterness from his tone.
Helen breathed deeply. “Infuriating man. He frustrates me. But perhaps it wasn’t a waste,” she suggested.
He’d expected her to be disappointed. Instead she looked . . . thoughtful.
“We are beginning to build a picture, are we not? McKay did not write those articles. He didn’t defend publishing them, I noticed. He merely admitted that he did—and he didn’t sound happy about it, although that could be because of the consequences he suffered. But he didn’t complain about my father forcing him out of the paper, did he? He mentioned that he ‘turned the Prattler over.’”
“It is curious wording, isn’t it?” Ben was caught up. “He didn’t say when he left. He didn’t say he sold the paper. And he does not seem content with his step down in the world, does he? “ He raised his brows at her. “So, what did happen?”
“You did not meet the new editor when you went to retrieve my letters?”
“No.” Ben thought back. “There were only the two clerks, who looked to be rushing to get ready to send their latest edition to the printers. One of them did take me into the editor’s office, to find your letters.” He paused. “I am only just now realizing how it looked. A stack of boxes—old files in the corner. They were McKay’s, the clerk mentioned. Papers strewn about a desk, but nothing of a personal nature. No mugs, personal touches or even writing tools. Nothing to indicate a man works there, daily.”
“So where is he? Who is he?”
“It seems we must find out.”
“The adventure continues,” she said with a grin.
It lit up her face, but Ben felt it in his gut when her happiness visibly faded. “Helen?”
“I fear I am not being wise.”
He considered. “Investigating with me?”
She looked at him, frowning. “It would be terrible if I were caught like this with any gentleman. But with you? The scandal would reach unheard of proportions.”
He knew she was right.
